


Secrets

by Jael_Lyn



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-26
Updated: 2013-09-26
Packaged: 2017-12-27 16:57:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 33,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/981354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jael_Lyn/pseuds/Jael_Lyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Colonel Norman Oliver died, that chapter of Jim Ellison's life closed...or did it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Secrets

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize in advance for any errors concerning the legal system.

**Secrets  
**

By the time Jim Ellison reached his doorway, he could name at least three different spices in the air, feel the beat of some indefinable music, and hear the muffled voice of his roommate singing. Taken together, it meant his partner was home and dinner was well under way, accompanied by a lot of bass from the stereo. He sighed in relief. Their fishing trip may have gone down the tubes, but at least they'd salvage a decent meal. He consciously turned down his hearing before entering the loft. Whatever was playing was definitely loud.

It would have been easy to snap at Blair for the volume, but the sight of his friend, dancing as he vigorously flipped a stir-fry, dishtowel thrown over his shoulder, erased the thought. He didn't have the heart to let his sour mood spoil the moment. Blair didn't realize he was there until the music vanished. When the dancing chef nearly jumped out of his skin, Jim felt guilty for startling him.

"Hey, Jim! Sorry," Blair said, gesturing toward the stereo. "I wasn't sure when to expect you, and I kind of got carried away. Put something else on. I can hurry dinner up now that you're here." He turned back to the stove. 

Jim drifted into the kitchen, content to sit on a barstool and watch Sandburg cook. Anything else would be way too much effort. Maybe all that cheerfulness would improve his outlook. It was a bit much for any forty-eight hours to lose an old friend like Sam Holland, get ambushed, drugged, kidnapped, have a reunion with a snake like Oliver, and deal with the Feds. He was sick of answering questions for the FBI, the DEA, and every other agency the government could conjure up. Moreover, he was sick at heart over how his past kept coming back to haunt him.

"I didn't unpack the gear. I was kind of hoping that maybe we could go next week, you know? I could get someone to trade my last Friday class and...Jim, you okay, man?" Blair had belatedly realized that Jim wasn't really with him. "Is it the drugs? You having problems with your senses? Talk to me, man."

"No, nothing like that," Jim answered, waving his roommate off. "It's just been a little weird, having the Colonel drop back into the picture like that. Forget it." He straightened up and tried to look attentive. "Dinner smells great. What is it, exactly? Or would it be better not to ask?"

Blair grinned, eyes twinkling, obviously eager to take advantage of the opportunity to tease his roommate. Another searching examination of his friend changed his mind. "Just a nice boring stir fry with chicken. No experiments. I figured you'd had enough surprises for awhile. I'll just get some rice going and we can eat." He turned, digging through cupboard, obviously looking for the package of rice.

Jim leaned his chin in his hands and watched the excavation. "Sandburg, most people keep things in the same place so they can find them. It's called organization. Every time you use something it goes in a different spot."

Blair's only answer was holding the sack of rice aloft. "Organization stifles my creativity." Pans clattered as he started the water on boil. "You want a beer, Jim? We have some time to kill. Tell me about your statement. You were gone so long, I thought the Feds had signed you up or something."

Jim snorted, accepting the bottle, taking care to examine the label. He never knew when Sandburg would sneak in some strange microbrew. "Have no fear. This little episode reminded me why I avoid federal agencies. I'm too old for the covert crap."

"You didn't answer my question." Blair had joined him at the counter, his own beer in hand.

"Don't want a rerun. The original was bad enough." Jim held the bottle to his temple and let his eyes drift closed. "I must have answered the same questions a dozen times, but every agency needed to hear in person."

"Jim," Blair prodded gently, "I have some concerns here - this whole thing could be a problem with your senses. Not only is any memory of your mission emotionally volatile, we've got multiple doses of drugs, blows to the head, and general trauma. Don't make me pry this out of you."

"Sandburg, you mean well, but I'm okay here. I just need a good meal and some rest. Let it go."

"Jim..."

"Enough." Jim walked away, headed for couch. "Let's watch the game while the rice cooks."

Blair shrugged, knowing the chances of getting through the Great Wall of Ellison were nil. If he needed to, he could raise the issue again.

*****

__

\--He was falling. Metal shrieked. Screams.

\--Screams that called his name. His own hoarse throat joined them.

\--He was lost, drowning in green and gray and red. Blood.

\--Faces he recognized melted into bone and blood, and still they called his name.

\--Laughter. Oliver, laughing, taunting, always just beyond of his reach.

"JIM! JIM! NO, JIM!"

__

\--He flailed away, fighting the hands that tried to restrain him. Had to get away. Had to stop the blood. 

"Jim, it's me...Jim, don't do this!" 

__

\--His hands tightened around soft flesh. He had Oliver in his hands. Oliver's face was dissolving; he would get away again.

His shoulders crashed against something hard, and Jim cringed as light blazed into his eyes. He was on the floor. He tried to push off, but Sandburg was pushing him back. Sandburg was coughing, struggling to get the words out, using his body to pin his larger partner to the floor. Jim went limp, beyond confusion. He was panting, dripping in sweat. His senses were spiking and an excruciating headache pounded behind his eyes.

"Jim - you with me here? Oh, man, are you okay?" Blair pushed up on his elbows, still sputtering. "Take it easy, Jim. It was a nightmare - take a sec."

"What...?" The room was spinning. Bile rose in his throat.

"Just a nightmare, man. You were tearing the room apart."

"Did I hurt you? Jesus, Sandburg, your throat." Jim's fingertips hesitantly traced the bruising skin. "What the hell? I could have killed you."

"You damn near threw yourself over the railing. I heard the ruckus, and by the time I got up the stairs you were half over the edge. When I tackled you, I guess I got mixed up in your dream." Blair was sitting up, leaning against the bed.

Jim ran a hand across his forehead, trying to master the pain in his head and bring his breathing under control. "Hospital. Need to get you checked." He lost his balance and crumpled on the floor again.

"I don't need a hospital. I'm fine, Jim. So I wear a turtleneck tomorrow." He'd made it to his knees. "Lie back, Jim. Give yourself a chance." They waited a moment, Blair kneeling at his side. "Okay, slow now. Take my hand." He steadied his swaying partner.

"Get me out of here, Sandburg."

An hour later, he was on the couch, holding a mug of tea. A blanket was wrapped around his shoulders, and his hair was still damp from the shower. Under Blair's gentle handling his senses had settled. He could detect just a hint of sunlight cresting the horizon.

"How's the headache? You need more aspirin?" There was no mistaking Blair's worried tone. He watched Jim closely as he perched on the edge of the coffee table.

"Headache's on the run, Chief. Thanks for the tea." Jim couldn't take his eyes off the blue-purple bruises on Blair's neck. He could see the lines where each of his fingers had nearly choked his friend's life away. "You need to call Simon. I...this needs to go as an assault. He'll know what to do."

"This was not an assault, Jim, it was a flashback," Blair answered angrily. "Sometimes I don't believe you. We need to call Simon, all right, but not to get a booking, for God's sake. You need to talk to somebody, Jim. This was serious shit."

"I'm not seeing a shrink, Chief. It was a nightmare. Diagnosis complete."

"Nice, Dr. Ellison. And you got your degree when?"

Jim swallowed more tea, grateful for the delay. "Chalk it up too much, too fast, if you want. We both know what happened. Talking to a shrink won't change anything. Can't you let it go for now?"

Blair frowned. "Only if you tell me what you remember. Then I'll agree to wait and see."

Jim nodded. "Fair enough. I think, I was in the crash again, not that I remember much about the actual event. The sensation of falling, the impact of the chopper coming down."

"What else?"

Jim took another swallow. There was no hope Sandburg would let him off the hook. "I could hear the voices of my men as they were dying." He looked up, reassured by Blair's sympathetic calm. "Then I heard Oliver laughing, saying stuff. That must have been what really set me off."

Blair waited expectantly. "And? Tell me the rest."

Jim's voice faded to a whisper. " That he would always have me. That it would never be over." He looked at the ceiling, his voice nearly breaking. "Then I was strangling him, to finish it before he could slip away." He buried his head in his hands. 

"He's gone, Jim. He cannot touch your life again." Blair shifted closer, wrapping his own fingers around the clenched fists. "Let it go, man," he whispered, giving what comfort he could.

The loft was filled with golden dawn before they parted. Simon was called. Jim marshaled himself for another day, unable to shake the conviction that Norman Oliver had another card to play from beyond the grave.

*****

"Hey, Jim, what are we doing today?" Blair slung his backpack off his shoulder and onto the floor. Jim really didn't seem to notice him. "Uh... Jim?"

His friend looked up, barely making eye contact. "We're doing some follow-up interviews for Brown. Simon won't assign me another case until the feds cut me lose. They're still making noises about needing me at a moment's notice." A scowl crossed his otherwise stoic face. "Not that they know what they want, or if there's anything I can actually tell them."

"What? Monday, maybe Tuesday I could understand." Blair studied the blank face across the desk. The normally clear blue eyes were red-rimmed and droopy. "There isn't anything going on here, is there Jim? Some kind of problem you haven't told me about?"

"No. No problem. Just some idiot jerking the locals around. It's embarrassing when one of your own gets caught in the act, and I'm sure a lot of people running for cover, looking for explanations, that sort of thing."

"Can't Simon get them off your back?"

"Have no fear. He's been yelling at them all morning." Jim fidgeted with some papers on his desk. "Sam's sister called me this morning. I met her a couple of times when I was still in the service. Sam was her only living family, and they were really close." His voice drifted off, almost on the edge of a zone.

"Jim," Blair whispered, softly squeezing Jim's elbow. "Hey, man, you still with me?"

"Yeah," Jim answered wearily. "It's just like after Peru, talking to the families. As if anything you say can bring back the men they've lost." He stood up, pushing the mask back in place. "Let's get these interviews over with."

"Maybe you should just ask Simon for some time off, Jim. You've got plenty of vacation time." Blair was already scrambling to keep up. He barely caught up to Jim at the elevator. "You look really beat, Jim. No one would blame you..."

I appreciate the thought, Chief, but I don't need more free time on my hands here," Jim answered with a definite edge in his voice. He held the door of the elevator open. "You want to play 'Dear Abby', find another candidate. If you're ready to do some police work, let's go."

"Sure, Jim. What ever you say," Blair answered, more sure than ever that he needed to rearrange his schedule and spend more time with Jim. Something was definitely up.

It was boring work and dragged on through the rest of the day. Jim was businesslike, remote, and ...lifeless. Blair's concern deepened as he watched Jim skip lunch, and then turn down a quick stop to pick up food at WonderBurger. He tried more than once to convince Jim to make it an early day, only to have Jim bite his head off. Despite the fits of temper, he seemed totally exhausted. Frustrated, Blair had to be satisfied with sticking around just in case Jim really did need him.

Their last call was clear across town. Jim insisted on going back to the station to file his interview notes, even though it was well past quitting time. Since Jim wasn't talking, Blair dug some reading out of his backpack. After the mess he'd made of his day, thirty minutes of uninterrupted time was looking pretty good.

He was totally absorbed in his reading when the tires thumped as they went over an obstacle. A smart remark died on Blair's lips. Jim's right hand was flopped on the seat and his head bobbed to one side as they cleared another bump. Not only was Jim asleep, but they were headed straight into the opposite lanes on the freeway.

"JIM!" Blair screamed as he lunged for the wheel, pulling it sharply to the right. They bounced back over the curbing, screeching across two lanes of traffic. Jim awoke with a start and hit the gas, clearly disoriented. Blair yanked at the gearshift, shoving it into neutral, praying they could get to the shoulder before another vehicle plowed into them. Even the guardrail was better than a head-on collision. Jim finally hit the brakes and they skidded to a stop. Cars behind them dodged frantically, horns blasting, but by some miracle no one collided.

"What the hell was that!" Blair shouted. He only answer was Jim's owlish look as he blinked and shook his head. "What is wrong with you? You nearly got us killed!"

"I - did I zone out?" Jim was looking around frantically as if he couldn't quite figure out where he was.

"No, it wasn't a zone out. You were asleep! Sound asleep!" The pieces finally slid into place for Blair all at once. "This is how you stop the nightmares, isn't it, Jim? You've stayed awake! How long, Jim?" He was so angry and scared he made no effort to calm his voice.

"Back off, Sandburg..."

"You back off! Answer my question. You nearly turned us into a traffic statistic!" Blair clambered out of his seatbelt, still seething. "Answer me."

Jim's head sagged to the steering wheel. Blair stormed around the front of the vehicle and jerked the driver's side door open, hoping the entire time that some semi wouldn't flatten him. "Scoot over. I'm driving."

The fight he had geared up for never materialized. Jim folded in on himself and moved to the far side of the truck. He pressed his forehead against the passenger window and closed his eyes, as if shutting out the world.

Blair's hands were still shaking when he pulled to a stop at 852 Prospect, but his anger had melted away. Jim hadn't uttered another sound.

*****

Blair's eyes jerked open as he started himself awake. A few moments of disorientation were followed by a sigh of exasperation. He must have dozed off sitting up. Hopefully, he hadn't drooled all over his materials.

He stared blearily around the library, noting the time. Jim was testifying for the grand jury on an extortion case. Since Blair couldn't accompany him into the hearing, he'd stolen the morning for research. His table was littered with books and papers, the results of more journal searches and printouts than he wanted to count. Damn Jim for putting him in this position! 

After their near disaster on the freeway, Jim had given up on sleep deprivation as a means of avoiding his subconscious. He slept fitfully, with each night interrupted by one horrendous episode after another. While Jim adamantly refused to see anyone for help, Blair managed to wheedle a few minor concessions. For safety's sake, they were both sleeping on the floor downstairs. Jim had agreed to write down what he could remember from each episode, even if he wouldn't talk about it directly. Blair made every effort to be available on a moment's notice, trying to relieve the stress on his Sentinel's beleaguered psyche and sensory control. 

Accepting that his pig-headed friend was not going to listen to reason, Blair had fallen back on what he knew best. He'd spent every spare moment, and a few that weren't so available, getting a crash course in post-traumatic stress. He was way out of his depth, and he knew it. A minor in psychology didn't make him a trained therapist. 

In any case, it was time to drag his tired body down to the station. He wanted to be there when Jim returned to Major Crime. Although the black episodes from Jim's past had so far remained nightly terrors, the thought of his friend alone on the street was more than Blair wanted contemplate.

When he arrived, Jim's desk was empty. Blair tried to keep his panic from showing as he scanned the bullpen. Jim had promised he wouldn't go out on any cases until he got there. He caught a glimpse of movement through the half-closed blinds of Simon's office.

"Sandburg, step in for a moment." Simon's expression was thoughtful as he motioned Blair into the office. "Coffee? Take a seat." After a few meaningless comments about coffee, Simon handed over a steaming mug. He gave Blair time to get the first swallow down before commenting pointedly, "You look like shit, Sandburg, almost as bad as Ellison. I want the whole story and I want it now."

"You'll have to be more specific, Captain. What story? Are things any wierder than usual?" Blair hid behind his coffee mug, struggling to keep his expression neutral.

"Don't give me that, Sandburg," Simon growled. "Jim looks like he's been dragged through a knothole."

"Maybe you should ask him, Simon," Blair answered, stalling for time. He did not want to have this conversation.

"Right," Simon snarled sarcastically, coming around the desk. "I could just go beat my head on the pavement, too. Answer me Sandburg. You're here because you're supposed to be the expert in all things Ellison." He towered over Blair's seated form. "I'm waiting."

Blair fell back on a tried and true strategy. When you didn't want to tell the whole truth, and obfuscation was not possible, at least tell part of the truth. Just choose which part is least costly to reveal. "Jim's just a little short on sleep. It's been tough on him, this thing with Oliver."

"Sandburg, don't even try that with me. The Feds released him this morning from further questioning, but I'm not putting him on full active duty until I get a straight answer from you. Believe me, I've been around you long enough to know whether I'm getting it, too." His tone switched back from confrontational to serious. "Level with me, Sandburg. Do I have a problem here?"

Images of careening across lanes of traffic flashed through Blair's head, along with the agony in Jim's voice as he rode out another night of torment. Still, backing Jim into a corner wasn't going to help. "Simon, Jim's working on it. We both know how - private - he is about certain areas of his life. Can't you find something to assign him to that doesn't involve some crazed serial killer or nuclear war? Something easy?"

"This is Major Crime, Sandburg. The easy cases don't come here."

"Well, then easy by Jim's standards. Something between desk duty and death defying, just till he gets his head together. Doing it any other way will just make things worse."

Simon's demeanor softened further at Blair's pleading tone. "Okay. I'll think of something. When Ellison comes in, tell him I want you to get takeout and bring some back for me, as a favor. That will give me a little extra time to find a case."

"Thank you, Simon."

"Don't hang me out to dry on this, Sandburg. If things go too far, I'm counting on you to pull the plug. Go on. Get out of my office with that guilty look." Simon watched him go, wondering if he'd made the correct call on this one.

*****

Jim added another folded blanket to the stack on the sofa. Last night had been their fourth sleeping on the floor, and he'd made up his mind that it would be the last. As much as he appreciated Sandburg's concern, it was time to bring this to a close. Self-analysis had its limitations. Oliver was dead, his cronies under arrest. He would miss Sam Holland, but it wasn't like they saw each other all the time. Covert ops, Peru, the whole mess needed to go back in the box.

He heard Blair's footsteps in the hallway, and went to the door to save him the trouble of unlocking it. Sandburg usually had an armful of junk to balance while he fished for his keys. Jim had witnessed him go through some amazing gymnastics just to get in the front door. 

Today was no exception. Blair had the handles of a plastic shopping bag between his teeth and an armload of books tucked under one arm, while the other hand was searching through one pocket after another. When Jim opened the door it startled him and individual items started hitting the floor. Jim retrieved the shopping bag because he had no idea what his roommate was trying to mumble.

"You're here early! Man, I wanted to have dinner all ready as a surprise. I've got all your faves - steak, potatoes, the works."

"Well, they won't go to waste," Jim answered, chuckling as he helped gather up the spilt items. "My court date was postponed while the lawyers and the judge yelled at each other over some procedural thing." Jim noted some of the book titles as they were juggled between the two men, and a frown darkened his face. "What's up, Chief? You getting a PhD in psychology now?"

"No," Blair answered, with a little apprehension in his voice. "Just doing some extra reading, about..." His voice trailed off when he saw the stack of bedding. "We had an agreement about this, Jim. I thought we did anyway."

"We did, but I told you I just needed some time and some rest."

"Great, Jim. Just great. You make it through one night only waking up three times instead of twenty and now your cured. You can't possibly have put this to rest. You haven't even given yourself enough time to figure out what the real problem is."

"Sandburg, you mean well, but it's time to move on." Jim deposited the groceries and leaned against the counter, wishing he'd handled this more gracefully. He shifted uncomfortably under his roommate's gaze. He could tell Blair was pretty upset.

To his surprise, Blair changed tactics. His voice softened. It was as if he were trying to talk him through a zone-out. "Jim, we both know what you're doing. Repression is not a viable long-term solution here. I don't doubt that you can do it. You've done it plenty of times before, but by now you know damn well that it will come back to bite you eventually."

Jim had no answer for that. He just shrugged, and after staring out the windows for a bit stated flatly, "I'm fine. End of story."

Blair stared down at the books, clearly seething. When he finally spoke, his voice was under careful control. "How about you start up the coals while I do the salad. You want a beer or shall we open that Merlot that's sitting around?"

"Merlot. I'll do the potatoes." They retreated into normalcy rather than resolve their differences. Jim was keenly aware that winning this particular scrimmage was a hollow victory.

MONTHS LATER

"Captain, your computer is still down, so I printed out your emails. They're in the green folder. The time sheets and summaries are in the blue one, and the latest budget proposal is in red. Oh, and Captain Taggart asked that you call him on his cell phone."

"Thank you, Rhonda," Simon answered, smiling broadly. "You're a lifesaver. What am I going to do when my detectives finally figure out that you're the one actually running the place?"

"I'll remind you of that next time I want the afternoon off, Captain. Happy reading. Shall I hold your calls?"

"Give me twenty minutes of peace if you can, Rhonda." Simon was already deep into the email file before he even had the door to his office shut. Damn computer. He never would have thought ten years ago that he'd be a slave to that infernal, uncooperative machine. Fortunately, most of his email correspondence on this particular day was routine. Finally, a name caught his interest. He'd asked an old friend at the Justice Department to keep him posted on the prosecution against Colonel Oliver's little band of drug dealers and murderers. Apparently they were coming to trial soon. If the expected plea bargains came through, they'd settle and Ellison wouldn't have to testify.

Ellison. Simon watched as his tall detective entered the bullpen, Sandburg in tow. He chuckled as Sandburg ran havoc through Jim's pristine filing system while Jim helped himself to the doughnuts someone had brought in. He toyed with the idea of calling them in to hear the good news, but shelved the idea. It might be a little premature. 

Simon still worried about the consequences of Jim's final encounter with Oliver. During the midst of the crisis, it had apparently been a good gamble to trust Sandburg's low key approach. He had never pressed Sandburg for details. Although Jim no longer seemed bothered by his experience, Simon always got the feeling Sandburg wasn't completely convinced. It seemed prudent to approach the subject with care.

He heard a shout of laughter echo through the bullpen. Apparently someone had booby trapped Henri Brown's desk with perfect results. Rafe was laughing uncontrollably, so he must be the culprit. He should go out there and yell at everyone to get back to work, but he was willing to let it go. Besides, his uninterrupted reading time would be up soon enough. Rhonda could only run interference for so long.

Speak of the devil. His intercom beeped, followed by Rhonda's voice. "Captain, there are two gentlemen to see you. They say it's urgent, and they have a clearance from the Mayor." Something in his secretary's tone out him out of his chair immediately. This was trouble for sure, but Rhonda was far too skilled at her job to blurt anything out.

Simon took one look at the two men entering his office and mentally said, "Feds." Identification was exchanged, and Simon made no effort to lighten the ominous mood in his office. All his internal alarms were ringing.

"This is a delicate situation, Captain Banks. Your Mayor assured us that we would have you full cooperation." The taller of the two handed him a sheaf of papers that Simon recognized as a federal warrant. As he read, his first impulse was to shout, but the politician in him stifled the outburst. He went back to the first page, making sure he had read it correctly the first time.

He was shaking with anger by the time he growled, "You can't be serious. I won't have it."

They were already drifting out the door, ignoring his protests. They made a beeline toward Jim. Everything seemed to slow down. Simon couldn't move fast enough to make it stop.

"Detective Ellison?" The second man faced Jim, crowding his personal space. The bullpen went dead quiet.

Jim looked over the top of his doughnut, not bothering to rise from the edge of the desk where he was casually perched. "Yeah. You are...?"

"James Ellison, you are under arrest for drug trafficking and violating the sovereignty of the United States. We will advise you of your rights. Please surrender your service weapon to Captain Banks."

Jim didn't move a muscle as the first cuff was snapped around his wrist.

Pandemonium broke out in Major Crime. 

Simon was demanding an explanation from the agent closest to hand. Henri Brown and Rafe were crowding in, arguing and harassing both agents equally. Blair quickly rounded the desk and pushed himself between the handcuffing agent and Jim, who was still seated on the desk. He hadn't moved or spoken. Simon actually didn't think Ellison had so much as blinked. Blair seemed aware that Jim wasn't reacting, but he was concentrating his efforts on deflecting the most immediate problem at hand.

"Drug trafficking? You can't be serious? Based on what? Who's running the investigation?" Blair was nose to chin with the taller agent.

The agent was ignoring him, and the chorus coming from Henri, who was now at his elbow. "Turn around, Ellison. Don't make this hard on yourself." He tried to shoulder Blair out of the way, but the grad student was having none of it. The agent tried to force the issue anyway. "Ellison! I said turn around."

Frustrated with the lack of reaction from Jim, and annoyed with the young man up in his face, the agent gave Blair a shove and moved to grab Jim's opposite wrist. In the close quarters, Blair's feet were pinned and he sprawled backwards, smacking his head on Jim's desk with a thunk.

"Blair!" shouted Henri. "Back off, man! You're out of line here," Henri continued, trying to cross to help Blair. He only succeeded in further tangling things matters, adding to the confusion.

Jim finally woke up.

Simon saw it from across the room. He'd known Jim for years, worked with him in every possible situation, knew his background and previous training intimately. None of that prepared him for the flicker of savagery in his detective's eyes when he finally reacted.

Jim spun and attacked the nearest agent in one smooth, silent motion. It was like watching a spring uncoil suddenly. The man went down in a heap, totally still. Another step and he lashed out a kick to the kidneys of the agent confronting Simon before the man had half turned around. As his victim thrashed on the floor, Jim seemed about to move in to finish the job. He took no note of Simon's panicked shout other than a murderous glance. The intensity of that look was enough to back even Simon off a step. This was not his friend and colleague.

At that critical moment, Blair came off the floor and flew across the room. He was practically draped around Jim's neck. His free hand went to Jim's cheek, and he pushed the larger man's head until they were eye to eye. While everyone else was shouting, Blair's tone was soft and urgent. Simon could barely hear what he was saying, and he was standing right next to the pair.

"Jim! Focus on me. Hear my voice, man." Jim came to a standstill, but didn't really seem to connect. "Come on, Jim," Blair continued. "Enough. Come back now." Jim's ferocity drained away. Blair pulled him across the room, step by step, heading for Simon's office.

The second agent stumbled to his feet. He ran straight into the looming bulk of Henri Brown, who had posted himself between the intruders and the doorway. "Forget it, man. This isn't happening right now."

Simon realized they had drawn a crowd of onlookers from all over the building. Joel Taggart was fighting his way through the gathering crowd. The two old friends stared at each other, using a lifetime of give and take to devise a plan without actually uttering a word.

"Rafe, get a medic up here," Joel directed, taking the stunned young man by the elbow. "You. Get that man into the conference room and make him comfortable until they get here." He motioned some other officers to help. He grabbed a desk chair and pulled it over to the standing agent. "You're not too steady on your feet. Get your boss on the phone and let's sort this out. Easy there," he continued, as he helped him into the chair.

Leaving Joel to clear the room and take care of damage control, Simon tersely directed Rhonda to get Beverly Sanchez up to Major Crime on the double. Jim trusted Beverly, and they needed someone to decipher the legalese on the warrant. 

"Captain," she protested, "she's probably in court." 

"Then get her out of court. Tell her what happened. Go!" Jim and Sandburg had disappeared. Simon headed for his office, frantically trying to decide what to do next.

Blair had Jim on the floor, out of sight, sitting with his back against Simon's desk. Jim's eyes were closed. One hand was clasped around Blair's forearm as if he was hanging on for dear life. The free end of the cuff swung back and forth, almost in time with the rise and fall of Sandburg's voice.

"Jim? Can't you snap him out of it, Sandburg?" Simon squatted down next to his detective. "Ellison!"

"What was that all about, Captain?" Blair asked, his eyes never leaving Jim's face. "Jim and drugs? There is no way!"

"I'm not sure." Simon shuffled through the papers. "I didn't really get to read it before all hell broke loose. There was something about..." He turned pages one after the other. "Oliver. Norman Oliver."

"Shit. How can this get any more crazy. Jim, you got any ideas, man?"

Jim shook his head, his face still blank. He did look a little more with it. He stood up, breathing as if he was trying to catch his breath.

At that moment, Rafe banged through the door. Simon's reflex was to bark at him for not knocking, but he never got the chance. "Captain, the desk sergeant just called. We've got a crowd of reporters trying to get past him. They all got the same tip - to get down to the PD for a breaking news story."

Simon's fury boiled over. "Get that son a bitch in here." No one had any doubts whom he was talking about.

Rafe nearly ran into the agent on the way out. "Captain Banks, this is obstruction, and Ellison just added assault to the list. We were promised..."

Simon made no effort to conceal his rage. "The last time I had an FBI agent in this office, he was a phony. Same guy as in this piece of junk," he added, waving the papers in the man's nose. "You barge in here and try to arrest on of my men? Without any prior notification?" He squeezed in on the agent, backing him down step by step. "Who called the press? Who set this up? What was the plan? To drag him out in shackles in front of the cameras?" He checked Jim. At least he looked steadier on his feet. "No detective of mine will EVER be subjected to that kind of treatment, and you can whine all you want about cooperation. Brown!"

"Yes, sir?"

"Escort our guest to the front desk. Pick him up and carry him if you have to."

The agent sized up his chances, sandwiched in between the two much taller, larger men. "You're making a mistake, Banks. You'll be up on charges yourself."

"Officially, I'm verifying your identification, based on previous experience. Out." As soon as the elevator doors closed he grabbed his own suit coat. "Taggart! We'll take Jim to the Federal Building ourselves, on our own terms. Have someone bring Sanchez when she gets here."

"How do you want to do it, Simon? We've already got a crowd, and those jokers will be coming back in force."

"We'll take Jim down the back stairs and split up. You bring your own car to the back. Jim and I'll go through the prisoner transfer exit. That ought to lose them for a bit. Get moving." He hesitated a moment and tossed a cell phone to Blair. "You're the decoy. If they've done their homework, they'll know who you are. Go out the front, and be obvious. As soon as you get clear, call Jim's father and brother. He needs a lawyer, and not the kind you get from the Public Defender's office.

*****

They broke a few dozen regulations exiting through the holding cells in the basement, but the ploy worked. Joel appeared promptly, wheeling his sedan at top speed around the corner. Jim was in and they were gone before anyone caught on. Simon cringed as he glanced down the street at the media gathered in front of the PD. Their attention was focused on Sandburg. Trust the kid to run a dynamite diversion. At least that was one unmitigated disaster they'd managed to avoid.

He borrowed Joel's cell phone, and left a message for Beverly Sanchez to meet them at the Federal Building. Jim was sitting in the backseat, fiddling with the handcuffs as if that was the only thing he had to be concerned about. When it came lose, he tossed them onto the seat with disgust.

"Jim? Jim! We've got a few minutes before we get to the Federal Building. Do you have any idea what's going on here?" Simon swiveled around in the seat so he could look Jim in the eye.

"I have no clue. If Oliver's involved, anything's possible. I've been accused of a lot of things, Captain, but drugs was never one of them." Jim fell silent, lost in thought. "You shouldn't have done this. You've both put yourselves at risk. Let me off and I'll just walk in."

"Not a chance," stated Joel firmly, watching his passenger in the rearview mirror. "Simon and I are taking you in. Two police captains from the immediate jurisdiction will send a message they won't miss. We can at least make sure you get fair handling. Maybe even get them to release you to our custody."

Jim snorted. It was pretty obvious what he thought their chances were.

Simon nodded. "Worth a try. Jim, you sure you have nothing to tell me?"

"No, sir. Nothing. I'm sorry."

"So am I, Ellison," said Simon, chewing on his cigar. "So am I."

*****

Blair hesitated in the main lobby. He could see the journalists gathered just outside the main doors. He shuddered to think of Jim being led through that melee, flashbulbs popping. It would have been a real assault on sentinel senses in the best of times, and Blair wasn't convinced that Jim was at his best. He allowed those thoughts to drift away. There was no time for speculating at the moment. 

He noted the guy Simon had just booted out of Major Crime getting chewed out by another man about Jim's age. He couldn't place him, but he was pretty sure his suit alone cost more that his tuition bill. He sincerely wished he had Jim's ears to listen in on that conversation.

There was no point in delay. He could try to sneak out, but that wasn't really the point. Simon and Joel needed a few minutes to get Jim clear. He made a point to stroll out in front of the agent and his unidentified companion. They didn't speak, but they definitely knew who he was. He'd have to think about that one.

There was a momentary buzz as he started to weave his way through the journalists. Soon he was being peppered with questions from all sides. Their information was pretty specific. They were asking about Jim, and they were asking about drugs. Definitely showtime.

He picked a microphone from the many being thrust in his face. It wasn't entirely an accident that it happened to be a local news anchor who'd been complementary to Jim in the past. He kept it simple. No, Detective Ellison wouldn't be making a statement. No, he wasn't sure of Detective Ellison's whereabouts at the moment. No, he couldn't speak for the Cascade Police Department, but none of Jim's colleagues believed Ellison had anything to do with drug trafficking. No one could seriously put any credence in such accusations. Falling back on hundreds of hours in front of auditoriums full of students, he kept the tone conversational, projecting a calm he didn't feel.

At one point, his backpack was jostled off his shoulder. As he straightened it, he caught a glimpse of the man in the suit staring at him through the glass. He was making no attempt to hide his hostility. It sent a chill up Blair's spine as he continued on his way.

****

Katherine Foster couldn't help but notice when they walked in. The FBI was a male dominated agency, but these three would turn heads by virtue of their height alone. They seemed at ease with each other, but looked guardedly at everyone else who crossed their paths. The youngest of the three moved with a carriage she recognized from her own father; career military for sure. The one without the cigar put a hand on the younger one's shoulder as they crossed the room, almost in reassurance.

The tallest of the three laid a document on her desk. She recognized it as paperwork had been prepared earlier, perhaps yesterday, she wasn't quite sure. Katherine looked from one face to the other. Any one of these three didn't seem like candidates for the kinds of crime described in that document. Surely there was some mistake. She nodded as the man who identified himself as Captain Banks of the Cascade Police Department requested a conference room and an immediate meeting with the individuals in charge. Polite enough, but it was not a friendly conversation.

"Excuse me, Ms. Foster, do you have a log for visitors to sign in?" the younger one asked.

"Well, yes we do." She reached for the book that was kept in her top drawer. When she handed it to him, she realized she was staring into the most intensely blue eyes she had ever seen.

"Thank you," he said, selecting a pen off of her desk. "I'd like you to make the notation that I have arrived here voluntarily. My name is James Ellison."

As they filed into the main conference room, Katherine struggled to match the name with the accusations made against him. Shaking her head, she concentrated all of her efforts on paging her boss.

*****

Blair desperately wanted to run all the way to the Federal Building. Using every ounce of discipline, he went all the way home to the loft instead. He practically flew up the stairs of 852 Prospect as soon as he stepped inside. He tried Jim's father first, to no avail. He left a message and searched out the number for Steven Ellison. Things might still be a little tentative between Jim, his brother and his father, but Blair didn't expect either Ellison to desert Jim when he needed this kind of help.

Blair was feeling a bit panicky as the call finally went through. He could clean out all his accounts, sell all of his possessions and still not be able to buy even one hour of time with the kind of lawyer Jim needed. "Please, please, please," he murmured as the phone continued to ring. "Please be there, Steven."

"Ellison." The voice was crisp. He sounded busy.

"Steven? This is Blair Sandburg. Yes, Jim's okay...well, no not exactly. Look, I'll keep this short. Two agents showed up at Major Crime this morning to take Jim into custody for drug trafficking." He pulled the phone away from his abused ears. "No, I don't know much of anything, other than Banks threw them out when he found out it was a set up, complete with media coverage. They were going to the Federal Building. Jim needed to turn himself in, but Simon and Captain Taggart went with him." Blair waited through a series of anxious questions. "I don't know if they'll let you see him. I don't know if they'll let me in either. I just know he's going to need a good lawyer, and not the kind you look up in the yellow pages. Steven, Jim would never ask, but legal talent like that goes for way more cash than I can lay my hands on. More than Jim can lay his hands on." He listened carefully again, relieved to hear Steven's reaction. "Thank you. I know, Steven, it's beyond crazy. I'll be in touch."

*****

Beverly Sanchez looked coldly across the table. The assistant, Peter Rouse, she had a speaking acquaintance with. He wasn't a bad guy. The real danger was Mason Walters, the lead on Jim's case. The guy was ambitious, skilled, and totally ruthless. Beverly didn't like his style and had a suspicion that in the right circumstances, his ethics would be suspect. As a fellow prosecutor, they should be on the same side, but Beverly felt no affinity for this man. She didn't trust him.

Jim was sitting on her left. Captains Banks and Taggart were on her right. She hoped the united front would level the playing field a little bit. It was sure better than sitting with Jim completely alone.

"I'd like to make it clear, gentleman, that I am not formally representing Detective Ellison."

"Then you shouldn't be here," answered Walter with a smirk.

"The City of Cascade has a special interest in this. We would like to be briefed on the case against Detective Ellison."

"It's irregular. I don't like it."

Beverly smiled and pressed on. "Consider it an interagency courtesy. Better for everyone that way. I'm sure you don't want to have the appearance of running an unjustified sneak attack on the Cascade Police Department, especially considering Detective Ellison's standing in the community." Walters didn't reply, but Beverly knew she had scored a point without actually making it a threat. Walter's position would have been stronger if he could have successfully grandstanded in front of the press. "Lets get started, gentlemen," she continued. "You don't need to be concerned about me being present during interrogation. I've already recommended to Jim that he not answer any questions whatsoever until his official representation arrive. Just so we all have that clear, right up front."

"And just who will be advising Mr. Ellison?" Walters asked as if he didn't care.

"You'll be notified in due course. Detective Ellison hasn't made a final decision yet." The look on Walters' face told the story. He wasn't expecting anyone at Jim's disposal to give him any problems at all. _And wouldn't you like to know, thought Beverly to herself. If I can pull that one off, you boys will be swallowing your tongues."_ Ignoring Walters patronizing voice, she began to take notes.

*****

Phone call to Steven complete, Blair again forced himself not to dash wildly back to downtown Cascade. He wasn't going to be much help to Jim with the legalities and he knew it. Frustrating as that might be, he needed to turn his energies elsewhere. He searched through a stack of CD's and selected one he used primarily for meditation. Settling into position, he sent his mind back to Major Crime, to the moments just before the hit squad showed up.

__

Jim had been fine. Better than fine actually. He was joking, energetic. Then the two guys came in. They went straight into Simon's office. Blair ran that scene over in his mind one more time.

Strange. Jim had ignored them.

Even in the most casual moment, Jim never really put his "Sentinel" side away. He was far more aware of new people entering the environment than the average individual. If you entered his territory, Jim evaluated you as a potential threat almost by reflex, and yet these two guys he ignored. Blair searched his memories again, then sat back, puzzled. As far as he could remember, Jim hadn't even made eye contact, or glanced in their direction. Everyone else had, but not Jim.

Completely out of character. Why would he do that? Did he know they were trouble? That didn't make any sense. Jim was far more likely to confront a threat rather than dismiss it. Why would he do that? Consciously, or unconsciously?"

Okay. They went into Simon's office. Jim never eavesdrops unless he has a real reason to. He was especially scrupulous about Simon's privacy. That would explain why he had no warning of what was actually going down.

So all of a sudden, the guy is up in Jim's face. Even that wasn't a normal reaction. Jim never left himself vulnerable when a complete unknown showed up. The guy crowds him, and Jim doesn't even stand up. Then the cuff goes on.

That was the moment that gave Blair the greatest concern. Jim had gone blank, as if someone had wiped a slate clean. No sound, no expression, no movement. What was that? It wasn't really a zone out. Blair couldn't think of a single sense that would have so overwhelmed Jim at that moment. If it wasn't a sensory trigger, was it shock? Or some emotional reaction unique to a Sentinel? Or to Jim personally?

Then the really scary part. Jim flips from out of it to pure warrior. Even from where Blair had been on the floor, it was unsettling. He'd seen Jim angry, he'd seen Jim fight. That attack had been strangely different. Jim could have been in a moving zone, if that made any sense. 

He didn't really hear me when I tackled him. It took him awhile to respond even in Simon's office. A zone out that wasn't really a zone out. Now how could that be explained?

*****

Beverly Sanchez excused herself. They'd heard the case summary, and had now moved on to the matter of taking Jim into custody. Better to let Banks and Taggart hassle it out over where, or if, Jim would be incarcerated. It was their area and she had little to add. She found a secluded spot and checked her voice mail. Yes! He'd answered. This was damn near a miracle. She tried to check her excitement. 

The whole thing was too surreal. Ellison as a drug trafficker? Not the man she knew as a good cop and a good friend. All Bank's secretary could tell her was that it had something to do with Ben Chavez, and that had been enough for Beverly to rearrange her day. She'd spoken with Jim when the Chavez story had first broken. After all, being kidnapped and shot at was a remarkable event even for Ellison. He'd joked about his apartment being trashed, and they had a good laugh over Sandburg evading capture by getting himself arrested. Despite Jim's cavalier attitude, she had the feeling it bothered him more than he let on, and he certainly didn't make any secret of his contempt for the colonel masterminding the assassination attempt. After listening to Walters, the whole mess was back, and Jim was clearly in serious trouble. His defense would require an attorney who could deal with the ins and outs of the CIA, the military and God knew what else. Beverly didn't have any idea how to negotiate the red tape associated with classified material, and she couldn't think of a single attorney in the city, or in the Northwest, who would really be up to the challenge. Having this work out was Jim's best chance. She nervously dialed the number, still a little squeamish about contacting a lawyer this prominent out of the blue. 

"Hello? Mr. Langfield? Beverly Sanchez, Assistant DA from Cascade, Washington. We met at the reception last weekend. Yes, that's right. Thank you so much for returning my call." She looked up, making certain the no one was within earshot. "Yes, Sir, I do have a case I think you'd be interested in. I'm sorry I couldn't give you a great deal of information, but the threads go all the way back to covert operations in South America that date back to the late 80's and early 90's. Yes. I thought that would be of interest. That's correct - they just waltzed in and slapped the cuffs on, with every intention of staging a media event." She listened carefully again as David Langfield outlined his requirements. If he became intrigued with Jim's case, maybe the financial end of things wouldn't be totally impossible. "No, Sir. I consider Detective Ellison to be absolutely above reproach. He was decorated during his military service and during his time at Cascade P.D. If I had doubts, I never would have taken the chance of contacting you." She laughed. "No, I can't promise you that it won't rain, but I'm sure it will be interesting. Yes, I can wait." She glanced up and down the hallway, shifting her weight from one foot to another. She couldn't believe it. This just might work. "A private plane? That's fantastic. I'll send someone to the airport as soon as you arrive in Cascade. Thank you, Mr. Langfield." 

She allowed herself a brief little dance of joy when she hung up. Mason Walters had a real surprise package coming his way.

*****

Simon shut up for a moment, allowing Joel Taggart to carry the ball. If he opened his mouth one more time he was going to take someone's head off.

"Mr. Walters, any time a cop is taken into custody, he's at risk. This is not a new concept. We have every right to be concerned about one of our own."

"Ellison's a flight risk. He's already resisted arrest," Walters pointed out smugly. "He stays under our control, and if I have anything to say about it, there'll be no bail." Jim shifted in his chair, and then seemed to change his mind. Simon was surprised, to saw the least. The Jim Ellison he knew had never been shy about sharing his opinions.

"Your nearest legitimate holding facility is in Seattle," argued Joel. "Anything you have here will put Jim in contact with other inmates at some point, no matter how briefly." He paused as Beverly Sanchez returned to the room. She looked pretty pleased with herself. "You can't possibly guarantee his safety."

"And your department is hardly an unbiased, neutral party," Walters countered. "I'm not going to have my defendant just walk out the door and go missing just because someone chose to look the other way. Besides, Detective Ellison is not in a position to complain about his accommodations. He stays."

"Detective Ellison is also innocent until proven guilty," barked Simon. "I caution you about throwing around comments concerning the professionalism of the Cascade PD. You're way out of line."

"We're at an impasse, gentlemen, but it's my decision." Walters started to pack up his materials. As far as he was concerned, the discussion was over. His assistant, on the other hand, was speaking softly to Beverly. Whatever she had to tell him certainly got his attention. 

"Uh, Mr. Walters, perhaps as a gesture of goodwill, it wouldn't hurt to remand Detective Ellison into the custody of the Police Department. Detective Ellison did come in on his own volition." Walters looked at his assistant as if he'd gone crazy. He leaned close and whispered a few short sentences in his boss's ear.

Walters stood up and glared at the three men at the other end of the table. "Do it," he snapped, and stormed out of the room.

Peter Rouse broke the stunned silence. "My boss tends to be a little - brusque. I guess it's up to us to work out the details. The initial court appearance will be set for tomorrow. Assuming Detective Ellison's counsel is ready, any bail determination will be made then. You already know how Walters feels about that."

"We have an isolation cell that's used for prisoners on suicide watch," Simon suggested. "It's separated from the rest of the holding cells and monitored on a regular shedule. Will that be acceptable?" 

Rouse looked directly at Sanchez. "Beverly, I know you have no direct standing other than an interested party representing the City of Cascade, but I'm asking you as an officer of the court. Will this defendant be in court tomorrow if we do this? I've read Detective Ellison's press. I don't underestimate his abilities, or the sympathies of the Cascade PD." He looked swiftly at Simon. "No offense intended, Captain Banks. Police officers have been known to obstruct justice when they believe they're protecting one of their own. You can't monitor and control all of them."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"Excuse me, Detective? I didn't hear you." Jim had been virtually silent during the whole interview. Peter Rouse didn't hide his surprise.

"I said, I'm not going anywhere," Jim said flatly. "I'm innocent, and I'm not going to spend my life running. Are we done here?"

James nodded. "Yes, we're done. Captain, as much as you object, be sure you treat him as a prisoner anywhere he can be seen. We don't need to antagonize my boss." He turned again to Beverly. "He's actually coming? I can't believe it."

Beverly shrugged. "That's why some of us still have faith in miracles, Peter."

*****

Taggart left to retrieve the car. Simon's heart sank as he pulled the cuffs. He couldn't bring himself to fasten them around his friend's wrist. He started to apologize, but Jim cut him off.

"We both know the realities, Simon. Just get on with it. I'd do it myself, but it's a little awkward."

Simon reluctantly fastened the handcuffs. "We'll need to give Joel a few more minutes. We may as well wait here."

"Sure," answered Jim, as if it made no difference to him. "Beverly, what exactly have you gotten me into?"

"David Langfield is coming to handle your case. If you don't recognize the name..."

"I do," growled Jim. "You're crazy. What did you do, call up his website?" he continued sarcastically.

"No," she answered, struggling to keep from sounding defensive. After all, she had expected Jim to react this way. "I met him recently at a seminar a few days ago. He's still in Seattle, teaching a class at the U, and this case has all the issues he has a particular interest in. I took a chance."

"Well, forget it," Jim snapped. "He gets cop killers and spies off the hook. He thinks cops are storm-troopers, and he hates the military. He'd never defend a cop, and I don't want him."

"Yes, you do." Beverly crossed the room to stand next to the much taller man, her voice edged with irritation. "Jim, you heard what Walters was talking about. That Oliver's papers name you as a player in all his drug schemes. You need someone who knows how to get information from the CIA and the Pentagon to build a defense. Lawyers like that don't grow on trees. If you reject him, you may as well save us all time and just plead guilty."

"So how am I supposed to pay for Mr. Hotshot?" Jim asked sullenly. Everything I own wouldn't cover half a day of his fees."

Beverly grinned triumphantly. "You're in luck. He won't charge you the going rate. Langfield's seminar topic was recent excesses in government prosecutions. He has a real thing about them, bordering on a crusade. Guess who the prosecutor was in one of his primary examples at the seminar I went to?"

Simon's laughed boomed out. "Mason Walters." He twirled his cigar, looking very satisfied. "Well, isn't that just perfect."

*****

Blair was jerked out of his reverie by the phone. It was Beverly. 

"Blair, I'm about three minutes from the loft. Meet me outside the building; I'm on a tight schedule."

"Beverly, where's Jim? Is he okay? Blair asked, gathering his coat and keys as he spoke.

"Not now, Blair," Beverly answered. "Just get down here and I'll tell you everything in the car."

"At least tell me where we're going..." he blurted out, before realizing he was talking to a dial tone. Slamming the door to the loft, he tore down the stairs two at a time.

*****

There were no reporters lurking in the parking garage below the PD, but Taggart was taking no chances. He pulled the car right up to the building before letting Jim and Simon out. The two Captains had exchanged worried looks on the entire drive back. Jim seemed totally withdrawn, not that anything they could say at this point was going to make any difference.

It took some time to get Jim processed and situated. There was no more horrible position for any officer - to be on the wrong side of the cell door when it closed. Although Simon knew he'd done everything he could, he couldn't stifle the feelings of guilt when he finally turned his back on the restricted cellblock. His last act was to demand hourly reports direct to Major Crime and to arrange for food to be brought in for Jim. It was the final gesture of normalcy Simon would be able to make.

He sighed, knowing the rest of the day looked a lot bleaker. Go to Major Crime and see what he could salvage out of his department, as if anyone was actually going to get any work done today. See the Mayor and the Chief. He was resigned about getting his butt chewed over the morning's events, and he'd just as soon get it over with. 

*****

Steven Ellison swore when the phone at the loft went unanswered. He had no idea where Jim was, and now Sandburg didn't answer the phone. How was he supposed to get a handle on any of this mess? He could try to get Sandburg at the university, but he didn't know that number. He could call Captain Banks - maybe that was the way to go.

It was too early to call the financial people back. He needed to give them at least an hour. He'd made a quick, discrete trip down to visit a friend in the legal division after Blair had called. The dollar amounts he came up with were damn scary, but Steven had taken the advice and put the wheels in motion anyway. He hadn't been much of a brother to Jim most of his life, but at least he was on familiar ground with finances.

He was about ready to hit the redial in frustration when his secretary appeared. "A message for you, Mr. Ellison, from Beverly Sanchez. She identified herself as with the prosecutor's office and she was calling for Mr. Sandburg. They asked that you meet them at the airport. Do you want me to clear your afternoon schedule, sir?"

"Yes, " answered Steven, moving quickly out of his chair. "Route any calls from the Cascade Police Department, my father, or Carter and Linder through my cell phone. Everything else can wait." He snatched the directions and disappeared. 

*****

He'd stretched out on his bunk. The thin foam pad, with its plastic cover felt cold on his skin, but it was nothing compared to the chill in his soul. So Tanya had copped a plea, and Jim Ellison was the coin she used to trade. What could be in Oliver's files that would entice a prosecutor away from a sure conviction to chase after him?

Time to quit acting like a victim of shell shock. Simon and Joel - he never should have allowed that to happen. They had no idea what they were getting into. He had to minimize their exposure immediately. And Sandburg? If his department colleagues were out on a limb, Blair was...shit, a lamb among the wolves. He needed to talk to Blair. 

Jim made a mental list. Move some money before everything got seized, if it wasn't too late already. Blair needed to get his stuff out of the loft. They might seize everything as part of the case and his young friend could be homeless. Blair needed his books, his clothes, his research materials. Research materials. Where did Sandburg have his Sentinel notes, at the University or at the loft?

To the officer checking the cell by video, he could have been asleep. Nothing could have been further from the truth.

*****

"Are you sure this guy will take Jim's case?" Blair asked anxiously?

"That's our job, Blair. The pump's primed, but you and I need to close the deal on Jim's behalf." Beverly wheeled her car into the parking lot. This part of the airport was dedicated to private planes, but it had been awhile since she'd been here. "You know Jim better than anyone else."

"Beverly, there are a lot of things I don't know. What's he going to ask me? What kind of money do I need? I called Jim's brother, but I didn't have time to talk with him after the first call."

"Is that him over there?" Beverly gestured to a young man with dark hair climbing out of a nearly new sedan.

"That's Steven. He must have gotten your message." Blair was out of the car in a flash, hailing Jim's brother. He was still talking, oblivious to the fact that Beverly couldn't hear him anymore.

Beverly resigned herself to bringing up the rear. She remembered teasing Jim about keeping his partner under closer supervision. Now she understand why the big detective had just rolled his eyes and laughed, making some comment about it being an open question who was really in charge.

*****

"What were you thinking, Banks? And you Taggart? I expected both of you to have more sense."

This was going pretty much as expected, and the mayor had whipped himself up into quite the show of indignation. Horror. Consternation. The importance of safeguarding the reputation of the department, and the City of Cascade. Minimizing our involvement. Simon recognized all the phrases. 

"Chief, we need to issue a public statement," stated the Mayor. "Let me get my public affairs people in here..."

"How about mentioning that Detective Ellison is an exemplary officer and has our support?" interrupted Taggart, his dark eyes flashing. Simon recognized the look. Joel Taggart had a slow fuse, but anyone who knew him well would have been making moves to clear the room. Simon hadn't expected Joel to carry the political fallout on this one, and tried to intercede. Joel was having none of it.

"Maybe we could make a quick tally of how many successful prosecutions came through Ellison's efforts? Or how many murderers and drug dealers are off the street? Mention how many times Jim has put his own life on the line for Cascade's citizens." The Mayor banged his fist on the table, and started shouting, but Joel met fire with fire.

"We have an obligation to cooperate with an ongoing investigation. Say that. We offered to keep Ellison in our jail for his own protection. Say that. But until Jim Ellison has had his day in court, this city owes him more that to convict him out of hand!" The mayor didn't have a quick answer for that, so Joel pressed his point home. "You want to worry about your political position, well that's your privilege. That's what politicians do. But you might consider how stupid and faithless you're going to look when this all gets unraveled, and Jim's acquitted of all charges, because I guarantee you that's how it's going to turn out. I'll stake my badge and my pension on it." Joe took a breath, and lowered his voice. "Get your public affairs people in here, and while we're all here to help, we can figure out how a man who ran on a 'tough on crime' platform sold out his best officer at the first sign of trouble. Let's put some spin doctoring on THAT political disaster."

"Perhaps something a little more neutral in tone would be the better course," suggested the Chief calmly. "After all, it's not an IA matter, and we're not responsible for either the prosecution or the investigation." Simon watched his superior negotiate the tightrope with his elected boss. If he ever aspired to sit in that chair, these were lessons to be learned.

"We step on no ones toes by promising neutrality and cooperation at the same time we mention Detective Ellison's numerous contributions to law enforcement in Cascade," the Chief pointed out. "We're absolutely above reproach by maintaining that he's innocent until proven guilty." They waited while the Mayor considered his options.

The Mayor made a show of checking his appointment book. He stood up behind his desk. "Gentlemen, I have a reception in forty five minutes. Design a statement and give it to my people to review. The official announcement will come through the Police Department, and I'll instruct my staff to confirm, but not add to or deny." Without another glance he sauntered from the room as if the whole matter was forgotten.

"Well, gentlemen, our good Mayor just washed his hands of us. We're out on the limb all by ourselves," the Chief commented ruefully. "Write the statement and I'll make the arrangement for a press conference. If you two haven't made the correct call in this one, you'd better have some career options in your back pocket." 

*****

David Langfield thoughtfully sipped at a club soda. Beverly had left them to make the arrangements - access to the evidence, the indictment, somewhere to work and an interview with his client. He'd offered to buy lunch so they could get acquainted and prepare for the afternoon. It wasn't bad food for an airport, but he was a lot more interested in the two men sitting across from him. 

Steven Ellison, apparently the poster boy for corporate America. Smart, successful, and probably a little conventional. It sure didn't line up well with the profile of his brother, Detective Ellison. The vignette given to him by Sanchez made James Ellison sound more like some action figure than a real person. There were other contradictions. For all his concern, Steven Ellison didn't seem to know very much about his brother. He mumbled a few things about being out of touch after their growing up years and looked helplessly at Sandburg a lot.

Sandburg. David Langfield had made a career out of sizing up new people in a hurry, and his gut was telling him that Blair Sandburg was a book you didn't want to judge by its cover. The young man could have stepped out of Woodstock fully formed. Langfied could judge. He'd been there in person. PhD. candidate in Anthropology, so he didn't lack for brains. Worked and lived with Ellison, which made no damn sense at all. There had to be a huge difference in attitudes, lifestyles, not to mention age, between the two men. Oddly enough, Sandburg clearly knew more about Jim Ellison than his brother did, and certainly spent more time with him. He'd have to examine that relationship further on the off chance it had any bearing on the case.

"Mr. Langfield, we haven't discussed your fee." In contrast to his hesitancy earlier in the conversation, Steven Ellison seemed very much at ease asking the question. "My legal department gave me a hint, but I'd feel better if we had the preliminaries out of the way." He pulled a check out of his pocket and looked at it thoughtfully. He laid it face down on the white tablecloth and pushed it toward Langfield. Before Langfield picked it up he didn't miss the expression on Blair's face as the grad student caught sight of the amount.

Langfield flipped the check over. Plenty of zeros, more than necessary and more than he would have requested. "Actually, Mr. Ellison, I usually make it a practice to meet my client before the financial arrangements are settled, but honestly, the case intrigues me." He paused, and decided to elaborate. "Do either of you know anything about the man prosecuting Jim's case?" 

Not unexpectedly, both men shook their heads. "Let me enlighten you. Mason Walters was a high flier, fast tracked for success in the Justice Department. He hasn't been in Cascade very long. This posting was a punishment. He was given time to reflect on his errors."

"Three years ago my paths crossed with Walters. He was trying a case involving state secrets. The defendant was one of my oldest friends. The documentation was rather sketchy, and depended on the testimony of a highly questionable witness. A lot of prosecutors would have walked away from it. Walters wanted to climb the ladder fast, and he didn't mind taking a few risks to make a splash. He made some deals to get testimony without verifying the accuracy of that testimony. Still, my friend went to trial, and even though we demolished the case, the damage was done. His career was in shambles, his wife in treatment for depression, his finances in a disaster. His children had left college when he couldn't make tuition payments. His first night out after his release he had dinner alone, walked out in the garden and blew his brains out."

"Walters just missed disciplinary action for his questionable handling of the case. He got booted out of DC to the Pacific Northwest to learn his lesson. His superiors at justice overlooked that he's overconfident, impatient, and once a gambler, always a gambler. When Beverly called, it had all the earmarks of another disaster." His luncheon guests were hanging on every word, so he continued. "When Walters got this case, it was a loser from a career standpoint. Oliver was a big fish, but Oliver's dead, and it's not very sexy prosecuting the underlings. No headlines, no chance at quick redemption."

"What?" Blair sputtered. "This is all just some pathetic career move?"

"We'll have to look at the evidence. If I'm reading the signals correctly, Walters has it set up to be no fail, at least in his eyes. If he can nail Ellison with a big splash, that's great for him. He can twist it to look like the great crusader, get some much-needed attention. If he can't pull it off, he probably has a bail out mechanism so he can walk away from the case with profound regret and no real damage to himself. Sends the message to his bosses in DC that he's learned discernment."

"Is that what the reporters were all about?" Blair asked. "Is it to his advantage to generate that kind of publicity?"

"Absolutely, if he can orchestrate it properly. What do you think happens to the reports he sends back to DC? Do you think anyone is really paying attention to Mason Walters, or has his name on the tip of the tongue? Nope, right now he's one of the faceless wonders of the Justice Department, grinding it out day to day. His bosses are in bed before is summaries even reach the east coast.

"A guy like Walters lives in fear that he'll be forgotten and lose his place on the fast track forever." Langfield leaned forward. "That's why this morning was so important to him. A war hero that was really on the other side, being lead off in chains is not your every day news event. Enough sensationalism to get picked up by one of the networks, or CNN, which would be a true gift from God as far as Mason is concerned. His bosses are watching CNN. Short of sending them 'Remember Me' emails, it's the fastest way to get their attention."

"So you think Jim's trashed either way," Blair said bitterly. 

"Not necessarily. That's why you have me. Mason Walters never considers that other people learn from their experiences, and I have a few ideas about how to spike the good counselor's guns." He handed the check back to Steven. "Deposit it in an account that we can draw on for expenses. You may need some cash readily available for bail. For the moment, I'm willing to let my personal interest in Mason Walters cover my fees."

He gazed out on the Cascade skyline with an expression that made both his companions shudder.

*****

In the end, the Chief made the statement to the press. Simon was genuinely surprised. Their leader had been a good cop, but he usually erred on the side of caution when it came to the press. The text left no doubt as to Jim Ellison's standing with the Cascade PD.

Simon sweated through the press conference right beside him as a show of support. They weren't planning on answering a lot of questions, but Simon felt that his presence, or absence, would be noted. At least they had a chance to put their spin on it first, since Walters had been deprived of his anticipated media moment.

A fair share of the follow-up questions were openly hostile. The press corps hadn't decided whom to cast in the role of the villain. They were keeping their options open. Tomorrow they could be depicting Jim as a ruthless betrayer of the public trust, or he could be Cascade's own native son horribly betrayed by the government he had so faithfully served.

As much as Simon Banks distrusted defense lawyers, he fervently hoped Jim's was an all-star. The Cascade PD could do no more to help Jim Ellison and stay within the boundaries of the law.

*****

"Steven, who does your personal legal work, or your father's, since he still lives in town?"

"Carter and Linder." Steven answered, pleased to provide something potentially useful. "I use the same firm, but my personal attorney is one of the junior partners." 

"Old firm? Well established in Cascade?" asked Langfield.

"Yeah, I think they were here in pioneer times. Dad's been with them for years. I think he went to school with one of the Carter sons. They all belong to the same country club."

"One more question. Be honest. Is your father's account large enough that they wouldn't risk losing it?"

Steven considered that carefully. "Since he retired, he probably doesn't generate as much activity, but if he left and went somewhere else, other clients would notice. No, I don't think they'd want to lose him."

Langfield nodded. "That's perfect. I want you to go back to your office and get them on the phone. Talk to the most senior partner you can and give them this number." He handed Steven a card. "I need to set up a local liaison, and I prefer to work with an old established firm. They can supply me with an assistant, tell me about the judge Jim draws, all the things only a local can know. Can you do that?"

"Absolutely. I can go to their office directly, if that would be preferable." Steven looked relieved to be of help.

"Either way. As soon as they've agreed, that number will ring through to my cell phone. I'll do the rest. I'll want to arrange some interviews to start getting Jim's message out to the public. Are you willing to do that for your brother?"

"Yes," Steven answered firmly.

Langfield clapped him on the shoulder. "Go shake up the lawyers, son. I'll rent a car and go meet my new client. Blair, there's more information I'd like from you. We'll talk on the way."

*****

Jim pressed the heels of his hands against his temples. He'd only been here a few hours and his head was splitting. Under normal circumstances, this cell was isolated enough to be almost silent. As far as he was concerned, it could have been in the middle of a brass band. Unless he gave it total concentration, his hearing spiked every few minutes. His sense of temperature was off, too, and he was freezing. Every time he tried to wrap up in the blanket provided, it scraped his skin like needles.

In short, he was miserable, and he was losing his grip. He thought about hailing the guard for some aspirin, but it seemed like too much effort. What he really needed was Sandburg, and quickly.

He shivered, trying not to pay attention to how slowly the minutes slipped by.

*****

After confirming with Beverly and getting a car, Blair and David Langfield headed for the PD. Blair kept willing the car to go faster, and he knew he was letting his anxiety get the better of him.

"Mr. Langfield, will you explain exactly what happens now?"

"First of all, it's David. We'll go through discovery, which means we'll get copies of any documents or statements used to prepare the case. We'll have to enter a plea, and at some point, we'll meet with Walters. The time frame is flexible to an extent." He studied the young man next to him. "I assume my client will plead not guilty?"

Indignation was Blair's first impulse, but he stifled it. After all, it was a reasonable question. "Absolutely not guilty. If Jim tries to plead anything else, I guarantee it's because he's protecting someone."

"Tell me about him. Explain how an academic and a cop got together. It will help me prepare his defense if I understand my client."

Blair was used to answering that question. After all this time the smokescreen was now second nature. "We met kind of by accident. I needed to do research for my dissertation, and Jim was working without a partner. We're really different, but we mesh well together. I ride on an observer pass."

"And the living arrangement?" Langfield probed.

"Sometimes I'm not a lucky person," Blair answered. "I was renting a warehouse, and the other half was being used as a drug lab, unbeknownst to me. Imagine how well Jim took it when it blew up while he was sitting on my couch. Jim was supposed to put me up for a week, and I never moved out. We're close friends - I consider Jim my best friend."

"Forgive the question, Blair, but it's best not to have surprises. Are the two of you in a relationship?"

Blair blinked. He knew there was plenty of gossip in that respect, although Jim was more aware of it. One of the downsides of having sentinel hearing, you had very few illusions about how people felt. "No, but you wouldn't be the first to speculate. We both date, and I have my own room. Beyond that, what can I say?" Blair shrugged. "Does it matter?"

"Not to me, but you never discount what might matter to a jury if we get that far. So you live together, you work together. What should I expect from him when we meet?"

Blair considered that for a moment. "Jim's a complicated person. He's going to be angry. He might not welcome you with open arms. Like most cops, Jim sees defense attorneys as the enemy. There will probably be things he won't want to talk about, so don't be surprised. It's not a sign of guilt, he's just a very private person."

"Like what things?"

"His time in Peru, for one. He'll always feel responsible for his men dying. His family, for another. He hadn't spoken to either his father or his brother for years until recently. "

"I noticed Steven seemed a little vague," Langfield commented.

"If I were to hazard a guess, he won't want their help." Langfield clearly wanted to hear more. "They care about each other, but Jim doesn't have a lot of confidence in their feelings. I'm sure he won't want Steven or his Dad to do an interview."

"On that subject, tell the outsider who does top-notch human interest in Cascade? Jim may object, but juries are influenced by all kinds of information."

"I'd talk to Wendy Hawthorne. If she doesn't see it as a conflict of interest, she might be willing to help."

"Who's Wendy Hawthorne? Why her?" Langfield prodded.

"She worked for True Crime and did a feature on Jim." Blair chuckled. "You can imagine - oil and water with nitroglycerine thrown in. She turned out to be okay. Went back to straight news and turned down an offer to go back to New York. She and Jim keep in touch. Even if she feels she can't do it, she'd help set something up."

Langfield nodded. "I'll want to talk with Jim one on one, at least for a little while. Use the time to see what you can arrange."

"Jim won't like it," Blair answered warily, having no trouble imagining Jim's reaction.

"Jim doesn't hire me to make him happy," Langfield said firmly. "Jim hires me to manage his defense. He doesn't have to like it."

*****

"Detective Ellison? Are you okay?"

Jim struggled to open his eyes, but the light was too bright. He squinted. "Evans, what are you doing in here? You violate basic procedures like this and they'll have your ass in a sling."

"You're shaking, and you didn't answer the intercom. I'll get the medic down here. You must be sick." Jim finally forced his head up and his eyes open. "Shit, Ellison, you look awful. I'll be right back."

"Evans, hold up!" The man halted near the cell door. Poor kid. No doubt he'd been read the riot act before being put in charge of Cascade's most controversial prisoner. "Maybe you could just bring me an aspirin, and see if someone could get me a juice out of the vending machines." He reached into his pocket for change, realizing belatedly that everything was with his personal effects. Just like every other prisoner, he thought ruefully.

"I can do that, but are you sure? You really don't look too good." Evans looked at him doubtfully.

"I'm sure," Jim answered, trying to pull himself together. "What were you doing on the intercom anyway?" 

"Your attorney is here. I'm supposed to move you, and I wanted to give you the heads up. It really spooked me when you didn't act like you heard me."

Jim nodded. "Just relax, Evans. You did fine. We're not going to have any problems here. Just get the aspirin, and if you can manage the juice, I'd be grateful. Just no coffee. It's worse down here than it is in Major Crime."

That finally got a laugh out of Evans. "You got that right. We specialize in bad coffee by the gallon. I've got some aspirin in my desk. I'll grab it and take you down to the interview room."

*****

Blair checked in at the main desk with David Langfield. He was conscious of curious eyes following them everywhere.

"Sargent Bailey, we need to see Jim, but I thought I'd better send a message up to Major Crime. Would you do that for me?"

"Sure thing, Blair. Tell Ellison the feds are nuts. Criminal to have one of our best sitting in a cell." He bustled around, getting a pass for Langfield. He handed the ID across the counter, and spoke to the attorney. "Been a lot of gossip flying around this morning. Do a good job, Mr. Langfield. We want our detective back."

"Uh, Bailey, are the press still hanging around?" Blair asked.

"They drop by every now and again, " Bailey answered, scowling. "They won't get anything from me, Blair."

"Actually, Sargent," Langfield said with a grin, "You can let this one slip." He looked at their shocked expressions. "Trust me, gentlemen. I'm an old hand at this." He clipped the ID to his suit. "Lead the way, Blair. Time to meet my client."

Bailey watched the two men as the headed for the basement. "Lord help us," he muttered. "Maybe I should just call the fire department now and save time, cause there's going to be an explosion when that one and Ellison get in the same room."

*****

"Sandburg! Been expecting you. Ellison is in room three. You know where it is, don't you?" Officer Evans stood up as Blair and Langfield stepped off the elevator. "Uh, if you don't mind, he asked for these." Evans grabbed the aspirin tablets and the juice. "Between you and me, I think we need to have the medical officer give him a once-over. He doesn't look too good."

Blair couldn't have kept the anxiety level out of his voice even if he had wanted. "More than just a headache? Did he say anything?"

"Nah, not Mr. Toughguy, but he's shivering like he's got a fever or something," Evans answered. "You know, his skin looked kind of blotchy, like he had a rash or something. Do you think he's really sick? If it's just a headache, it must be a monster."

Blair's mind was racing ahead. If he needed to work with Jim on his senses, he couldn't have Langfield in the room. "You know, Evans, why don't you get Mr. Langfield some coffee, and I'll check with Jim. He has a lot of allergies. Can I bring anything from home for him?"

"If it's medical, I can probably arrange it, but the big guys were pretty adamant that we needed to treat Ellison like any other prisoner. Talk to him, and if you need it, we'll work on it." He handed some keys to an assistant. "Terry can let you in, and I'll see to Mr. Langfield. How do you like your coffee, sir, or would you rather have a soft drink?"

Knowing Evans would buy him a little time, Blair hustled down the corridor.

*****

"Steven, what a pleasant surprise." Jason Carter rose and greeted his old friend's son. "I'm not expecting your father until next week, and that's for golf. There isn't a problem, is there? Ryan Weeks is doing a good job for you, isn't he?"

"No complaints. Ryan's always been great. As far as Dad goes, I'm sure he's polishing his driver in anticipation." He had to grin. His father and Jason Carter had been competing on the golf course since they were kids, and every round was still the Super Bowl. "It's about my brother, Jim."

"The Detective? Quite the big brother, Steven, you have to admit. He's a credit to Cascade. So what's the problem? I can't imagine why, but does he need representation?"

Steven settled into the oversized leather chair. This was harder than he expected. "Jason, Jim was arrested this morning. Some idiot at the Justice Department has decided he's a drug trafficker. Everyone who knows Jim is outraged, but that doesn't change the situation." He paused. "Dad doesn't know yet," he continued softly. "I haven't been able to track him down, and I can't imagine telling him."

"My God. And when was Jimmy supposed to be trafficking drugs? As a sideline while he's harassing the criminal element of Cascade? Between arresting serial killers?"

"The prosecutor is Mason Walters. Apparently he thinks there's a connection between Jim and that Colonel Oliver. Remember? It's been awhile, but the guy who tried to assassinate the DEA agent."

"Jim was the one who nailed the guy, wasn't he?" Carter demanded sharply.

"I didn't say it made sense," Steven answered. "Jim's personal history aside, the whole thing is just crazy, but he's still under arrest."

"So the charge is federal?" He pressed the intercom. "Let me see who I can recommend to represent him."

"Actually, Jason, we have someone. Beverly Sanchez pulled some strings. His name is David Langfield, and he asked me to contact you."

"David Langfield?" Carter stared across the desk. "Steven, I learned a long time ago never to sell the Ellison family short, but how did you get David Langfield? That's like getting a Supreme Court Justice to write the family will."

"Don't ask me. Beverly Sanchez called him, and he came, as unlikely as that sounds. She met him recently and thought he'd be interested. I just met with him at the airport. He's going to meet with Jim as we speak, and he asked me to see you. He called it a local liaison."

"Absolutely. He'll need working quarters and someone who knows the players in Cascade. This firm will be happy to provide the support he needs."

Steven produced the card. "He asked that you use this number. I really appreciate this, Jason."

"Under the circumstances, he'll want to get on with the discovery. Leave it in my hands, Steven. We'll take care of everything he needs."

"I ought to get back. I haven't seen Jim yet, and my Dad..." His voice trailed off.

Jason Carter laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. "This is always a trying moment. I doubt you could do better than Langfield. He's the best. Go see your brother and let us do our part."

*****

"Jim? Oh, man, how are you?" Blair burst through the door and hurried to his friend's side. "Evans said you asked for these." He handed the tablets to Jim and dropped into the chair close by. He lowered his voice. "How bad."

"I can't get anything to settle down. Hearing, touch especially, and now this damn headache."

"You've earned a headache today, Jim. We haven't got a lot of time. Your attorney's here. Let's try to get everything down to normal. Close your eyes, take a breath." He waited while Jim struggled through the familiar routine. Jim was in a short sleeved shirt. His exposed arms showed angry red skin. "That's it," he coaxed. "Hearing first. Bring it down slow. Set it a little below normal. Now touch."

It took three attempts before the set of Jim's shoulders finally eased. He downed the aspirin. Jim noticed Blair staring at his arms. "It's a cotton blanket, but it may as well be sharkskin. I was so cold."

"Could be the detergents. I'll try to work something out with Evans. Langfield wants to see you alone. Why don't I go rustle up some soup or something for you?"

"Something warm sounds good. Simon sent lunch, but I could barely choke it down. What's he like, Chief?"

"I think he's a good guy if you give him a chance, Jim. He's going to make you uncomfortable, but he's smart, and I think you need him."

"I know I need him, Sandburg. The rest? I'll try to keep an open mind, okay?"

"Okay, Jim." They both fell silent as the door opened and David Langfield entered the room.

*****

"So Langfield is coordinating with Carter and Linder? Yeah, fine. Send the discovery materials to their office." Mason Walters leaned back in his chair and stared impatiently at the ceiling while his subordinate rattled on. "If I know Langfield, it won't take him long to get through discovery. Block out some time tomorrow so we can get the preliminary meetings over with. I want an early court date." He listened again. "Look, just get it done," he barked. "Let Monica know I'll be ready in fifteen minutes to prepare the press release." He slammed the phone down, his mood black.

David Langfield. It would have to be Langfield, he thought bitterly. I have the perfect opportunity and that self-righteous bastard shows up. He allowed himself a few minutes of unrestrained anger. Then he turned his attention back to his press release. Setting the tone for the prosecution was so important, and infinitely satisfying.

*****

David Langfield let Blair handle the introductions with a divided mind. The formal niceties were important, but he had other issues to pay attention to. He always relished this moment, when the client became more than a name on a piece of paper. It was an interesting life being a defense attorney, like playing an extremely complicated game of chess. Understanding your client was critical.

He tried to look through the eyes of future jurors. Experience taught him that his first impressions would very likely be theirs. Jim Ellison would strike quite a presence in the courtroom. Tall, well-built, a few vestiges of military life still apparent, ice-blue eyes that jurors would see from across the courtroom. His looks wouldn't hurt him with either sex. They'd have to soften him a bit or he'd be too intimidating. 

Clear voice. No doubt at ease with testifying in court, but it's always a little different when you're the defendant. How would Mason Walters handle him? Bait him for anger? Portray him as the consummate liar? Jim Ellison certainly didn't fit the image of a cop gone bad.

Introductions were over. Time to get down to business. Interesting. Sandburg seemed very protective of the older man, almost reluctant to leave. At a later time he'd need to study their interaction. Finally, Ellison smiled at Sandburg, as if he knew exactly what was going on. "It's okay, Sandburg. Go check with Simon, and I'd take some soup if you can get it. Go on. I'm sure Mr. Langfield and I won't need that long."

"Right," Sandburg answered, like he was used to Jim directing him and not agreeing. One last look and he was gone.

"I can't possible pay you," Jim stated flatly, his eyes still on the door. "She meant well, but I could wring Beverly's neck."

Langfield figured he'd just as soon take the bull by the horns. "Detective Ellison, I'll explain, but I have a personal interest in this case, and I was grateful Ms. Sanchez made the initial contact. Besides, your brother Steven and I have already made some preliminary arrangement. You have other issues to be concerned with than my fee."

"Steven?!" Ellison scowled. "Sandburg, of course. I didn't tell him to do any such thing." Those piercing eyes fastened on Langfield. "I don't want my family involved in this."

Langfield quickly evaluated the strategies available to him. Blair had warned him. "The transaction was between Steven and myself. I don't think he needs your permission. It was his check, after all."

Jim's eyes narrowed. "I don't have to keep you as my attorney either. Steven has no say in that."

"You could, but it would be suicidal," Langfield responded, his voice level. "Don't fault your family for appreciating the serious nature of your situation. Both they, and your friend Sandburg, are putting your needs before your desires. You may not like it, but if you're honest, you know it makes sense."

Langfield let the silence fall. He had to have Jim's cooperation. "You should call me David, you know. We'll be working together closely."

Another silence. "Okay."

"Where should we start, Jim?" Langfield watched his wordless client closely. 

Jim slowly scrubbed a hand across his forehead. "Sandburg's an innocent. I need to make sure you get him out of harm's way. Get him out of the loft - tonight if possible."

Of all the things Langfield had expected Ellison to say, that wasn't it. "What are you telling me, Jim? That you're NOT an innocent?" He tried hard not to show his alarm. His gut told him this man was not guilty. "I would never normally ask that question. You're entitled to a defense no matter your guilt or innocence." 

Jim seemed to ignore the statement. "They can seize property obtained through drug proceeds, can't they?" 

Jim wouldn't meet his eyes, and Langfield's apprehension grew. "Yes. It's possible," he answered.

"Then get Sandburg out. He doesn't have any money, and I don't want him homeless. He could lose his books, his dissertation materials, his clothes or his laptop. He'd never be able to replace them. Will you do it?"

"Yes. Are you going to tell me why, Jim? It would be better if I knew."

"I paid for the loft in cash. It was back pay from when I was in Peru. It was brought up once in an IA investigation. I couldn't say anything to defend myself. It was a black ops mission, and the records are sealed. It wouldn't take a rocket scientist to make it look like a drug payoff."

"I can see your concern. I can get the record unsealed. If Walters brings it up, we can deal with it."

"Do it whether you can get to the records or not. My guess is they're going to search the loft anyway. I've been on the other side too many times. They'll box everything up and look through it later. It needs to be done now, Langfield...David. Get him a hotel somewhere. Use Steven's money, if he's so happy to part with it."

Langfield made an educated guess. Jim Ellison wasn't going to move on to his own defense until this was settled. "Who's your boss at the Police Department?"

"Captain Banks, Major Crime."

"Excuse me a moment." Langfield stepped out into the corridor and hailed Evans. "Contact Captain Banks. Tell him I need to speak with him urgently. Can you do that?" After being assured the call would be made, he turned his attention back to Jim. "We'll go through your boss. Have him certify that the materials Sandburg removes are academic and personal. You have my word that I'll do everything in my power to insulate your friend from the fallout. Is that sufficient?"

Jim nodded. "If you can get my personal effects, have Sandburg use the ATM and draw the account down. He knows the pin number. No point in leaving money there for seizure. He can use it for expenses."

"Anything else?" He waited for Jim's response. He noticed than Jim was still rubbing his arms. "Jim, before we go on, why don't I tell Evans to get you some medical attention. It's a lot easier to do these things while I'm here rather than the middle of the night."

Jim finally agreed. Langfield relayed the request and pulled a chair close to his client. "All right, Jim. Tell me about Colonel Oliver."

*****

Blair called Wendy Hawthorne from the deli near the department. He and Jim were regulars there when Blair could get him away from the candy machines. Mrs. Taylor shooed in into the back office while she got a care package together. He smiled at her through the doorway as she added some doughnuts to the soup and bread already in the bag. If they couldn't tempt Jim with a buttermilk doughnut they wouldn't get him to eat anything.

"Yes. Wendy Hawthorne. Tell her it's Blair Sandburg. Just tell her, okay," he added impatiently. He didn't have time to be on hold forever. He was seriously worried about Jim.

"Blair? Blair, are you there." He could hear assorted crashes and thumps in the background as Wendy jostled the phone. "What the hell is going on? I just heard the statement from the Chief of Police, and Mason Walters is due make a statement in about an hour."

"Wendy," Blair interrupted, "calm down. I don't have a lot of time. You need to make a quick decision. Would you be interested in an exclusive interview with Jim's brother, Steven, and his attorney?"

"So it's true." Blair could just imagine the look on her face as her brain went into overdrive. "Who's his lawyer?"

"David Langfield."

"Did I just hear you right?" Wendy squeaked. "THE David Langfield? You're offering me an interview with HIM and the Ellison family?"

"You heard me right. Do you need to check with someone, Wendy? If you can't do it, I'm gonna look for someone else."

"Of course I'll do it. Be still my beating heart. When?"

"Tonight. Give me a number." Blair grabbed a pencil off the cluttered desk in front of him and began scribbling. He read back the number. "Gotta go, Wendy. I'll call." He hung up without waiting for a goodbye.

Thanking Mrs. Taylor, he raced back to the basement of the PD. He was surprised to find Simon Banks waiting for him.

"Give that little goody bag to Evans," he ordered. "I need to take you to the loft."

"I need to talk with Jim," Blair protested.

"Later," Simon insisted, steering him out the door. "We'll talk in the car."

*****

"Colonel Norman Oliver was the intelligence officer for the Army Rangers division I served in. I was in command of an eight man counter-insurgency team." Jim swallowed. "Our landing zone turned out to be right in the middle of a rebel area. The short version is that we were shot down, and I was the only survivor. I spent the next eighteen months in the jungle with the Chopec people, organizing the resistance. A satellite finally picked up the crash site and sent in a body recovery team. 

When I got back, I pinned the bad intel on Oliver. I knew something was up, but I couldn't prove it. When it looked like Oliver was going to get off, I decided to leave the service. Came to Cascade and joined the police force. I never thought, or wanted, to see Oliver again."

The narrative stopped. Jim was gazing off, his face blank. "Jim, I can imagine how difficult this is for you to discuss, but you're the only one who can really tell me what I need to know," Langfield prodded gently.

"I know," Jim answered, with the smallest play of emotion across his face. "Last year I get a call out of the blue from Sam Holland, a guy from my old unit. We've kept in touch over the years, but I never expected him to be in Cascade. He was scared, and asked me to meet him. Oliver's thugs gunned him down before he could really tell me anything. I was drugged and woke up locked in a warehouse. They must have looked at my ID, because they went to my place and nearly nabbed Sandburg." The memory brought a wry smile. "Don't underestimate Sandburg. Two covert ops guys burst at three in the morning, shoot at him, and he not only gets away but ditches them in a public bus by getting arrested." He shrugged. "Sorry, not pertinent."

"Not at all. He's a corroborating witness. Go on," Langfield encouraged.

"Oliver was going to assassinate the DEA agent Ben Chavez and pin the murder on me. That wasn't part of the plan, I just conveniently appeared and he took advantage. Oliver bragged that he was protecting his drug pipeline, and he deliberately sabotaged my team for the same reason. I got away and took him out just as the attempt was going down. There are case files if you want to see them."

Langfield didn't know what to say. Without even seeing the evidence, it was a stunning case. "So any documents Oliver has linking you to the drug trade are false?"

"Absolutely," Jim answered, not hiding his anger. "I'd kill that bastard ten times over. Seven good men lost their lives needlessly. Now eight, counting Sam. He nearly killed Jack Kelso in the bargain?"

"Jack Kelso, the author? Ex-CIA whistleblower?" Jim nodded. "Ellison, where do you find these people, much less know them? I'm amazed."

"Kelso is one of Sandburg's university buddies. He's helped on a couple of cases, and like I said, Oliver nearly got him killed."

"I will definitely want to meet with him," Langfield answered, scribbling some notes on his legal pad. "Do you think he'd be willing to testify as an expert witness?"

"My guess is he would. Talk to Sandburg." He pinched the bridge of his nose. The headache obviously hadn't let up.

"Hang in there, Jim. We'll try to get something stronger than aspirin out of the medical personnel. Okay, if the documents are false, why would Oliver or someone else have prepared them?"

"I don't know. Maybe Jack...all I can tell you is that Norman Oliver spoke his first lie as he left his mother's womb. Man, is it cold in here, or is it just me?"

*****

Blair was still protesting. "Simon, his senses are a mess. I need to see him."

"Get in the car, Sandburg, before I stuff you in a garbage bag." Simon waited until the door slammed and started the car. "Jim and Langfield think there's a chance the loft might be searched or even seized. You need to get your stuff out before that happens."

"What!" Blair shreiked. "How could Jim think I'd be worried about a few clothes at a time like this? That stubborn, over-protective..."

"Sandburg, will you just stop and think a minute," Simon interrupted crossly. "Where's your research kept?"

Blair was still in protest mode. "In a locked store-box..." His voice died. "In a store-box at the loft."

"Exactly, Sandburg. These guys can open locks, and they will examine everything."

"Oh, my God. Do you think they've already been there?" There was nothing but horror in Blair's eyes as the implications dawned on him.

"Hopefully, it's not critical to their case and they haven't thought of it yet."

"Drive faster, Simon. Use the lights."

"Not a bad idea, even for you, Sandburg."

*****

"Detective, have you had migraine headaches before?" Langfield was hovering to the side, watchfully.

"Uh, I guess so," Jim answered. The medic frowned at his vague reply.

"I'll see about getting you some medication and have it sent down. For your skin, since I can tell you're very uncomfortable, I'll get some topical salve and send it with the other medication. Try it on a small patch of skin as a test, and if it helps, use it wherever the irritation is the worst."

"What about the linens in the cell?" Langfield asked.

"It definitely seems to be a medical issue. I'll approve having familiar items brought in, but you may have to confirm the arrangements later in court. From the looks of it, I'll approve clothing as well."

"Good. I'll see to it as soon as possible," Langfield added in agreement.

"Detective, I know it seems ridiculous under the circumstances, but try to eat tonight and get some rest. The stress can't be a help." Noting Jim's disgusted look, the medic smiled sympathetically. "I know. If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride. Have Evans call if you have any more medical problems."

When the medic left, Langfield studied his client. There was no way to make this easier right away. Jim seemed to understand. "You need to go do some lawyer things, don't you?" he asked.

"Yes. I'll review the materials forwarded by Walters' office. We'll begin the discovery process, meet with him at the earliest opportunity, probably tomorrow. "Is there anything else you need to ask before I leave?" The two men rose and shook hands.

"No. Just remember what you promised about Sandburg." Without another word he disappeared with Evans.

*****

"Sandburg!" Simon bellowed. "Get in here!"

"What?" Blair exclaimed as he ran out of the bedroom. He was dropping books and clothing as he went. "What's wrong?" A few half-packed cartons were scattered around the room in front of Simon. The packing was not going well. Blair couldn't imagine why Simon was interrupting.

Simon pointed to the television. "It's Walters, the federal prosecutor. The news conference is being televised."

Blair dropped onto the couch, his attention completely absorbed with the man walking to the microphone. This was the man who was apparently intent on ruining his friend's life, and seemed to have an excellent chance of doing so.

*****

"Thank you ladies and gentlemen. We'll keep this brief. All of us were shocked last year when an attempt was made on the life of Ben Chavez, a dedicated DEA agent, right here in Cascade. A Colonel Norman Oliver was killed in the assassination attempt, and Detective James Ellison of the Cascade Police Department was hailed for apparently saving the life of Agent Chavez."

"It is regretfully my duty to report to you that based on the ongoing investigation of Oliver and his associates, James Ellison had been implicated as a participant in those illegal activities. The evidence goes back years. We are profoundly disturbed at what may be a terrible betrayal of the public's trust. Detective Ellison was taken into custody this morning.

"We anticipate that the trial will be swift and justice will be served. This is a very sad day for Cascade, and for the nation."

Mason Walters waited calmly through the flurry of flashbulbs, with just the right expression of outrage and sober dedication. After all, he'd practiced to get it just right. He smiled benevolently at his first questioner. The only darkness flitting across his thoughts was that he hadn't been able to pull this off earlier in the day. He'd missed the news cycle in DC, but maybe he'd make a later broadcast of CNN anyway.

*****

David Langfield was watching from the offices of Carter and Linder. Boxes of documents were already being unpacked. He had hours of serious digging to do, but it would have to wait.

"You son of a bitch," he swore softly as the performance rolled forward. "You over-inflated, unethical, young peacock. I'm going to pluck you bare, so help me God."

"Mr. Langfield, we have a Ms. Hawthorne on the phone."

Langfield shoved his reading glasses onto his forehead. "Thank her, and make the arrangements we discussed. I've asked Steven Ellison to be here 8:30."

"Right away, Mr. Langfield."

"Mark, did you find any other depositions from that Tonya Phillips? I seem to be missing one."

"Wait a sec. I just saw it." The young man rustled through the stacks. Carter and Linder had put three junior partners and a paralegal at his disposal. One was in a nearby office, grinding through the stacks of paperwork required to open Jim Ellison's military records. She was a good lawyer, but it wasn't necessarily a straightforward process. As soon as those were finished, she'd be given the job of tracking down Ellison's former commanding officers.

Between the other staff, one lawyer and the paralegal were helping him wade through the materials from Walter's office. The third lawyer was doing the legwork for the interview with Wendy Hawthorne, and getting Blair Sandburg set up in a suite at a nearby hotel. Langfield's own suite was next to it. Not only had he promised Ellison to insulate Sandburg from the investigation, Langfield had a gut hunch that Sandburg was going to be a real help.

The final occupant was Jack Kelso. Langfield was thrilled to have his help. Not only had Kelso been willing, he'd arrived with his own laptop and piles of research. His contacts alone were invaluable, and he had an insider's knowledge of Oliver's career.

"Jack," asked Langfield, "it looks to me like this entire case swings on this Tonya. After months of questioning, all of a sudden Ellison is one of the gang instead of the interfering cop. She directs the investigators to Oliver's secret files, which just happen to contain notations of Ellison's illegal activities."

Kelso nodded in agreement. "Either Ellison lied in every statement he ever made, dating back to his mission to Peru, or the files are bogus."

"Her word without the files would be a joke. So how do we explain the files? It doesn't make any sense."

"Do you find any entry concerning Ellison after 1989 or 1990?" Kelso asked.

"No. Everything seems to be earlier," Langfield answered. "Although we did just get started."

"I have a theory," Kelso volunteered. "When Ellison came back from Peru, he laid the blame on Oliver, and he was very open about it. It was a serious problem for Oliver, although I don't think Jim had any idea how much pressure he was actually exerting. Jim got frustrated and left the military. I think the files were going to be used a counter-leverage. It would be like Oliver to try to get an accuser to back off by threatening to implicate him."

"And there aren't any later entries because Jim mustered out, and the threat was over," agreed Langfield. "Tonya was his aide. She would have had access to his files."

"For all we know, when Ellison appeared on the scene after Sam Holland was killed, Oliver had her pull the files, or told her about them. He was going to frame Ellison." Jack Kelso shook his head. "Oliver was a arrogant bastard when he was a lowly sniper in Viet Nam. Thirty years of evading detection wouldn't make him any more humble. It makes perfect sense he would have gloated in front of Jim."

"An interesting problem legally. We have to prove that what looks like perfect documentation is false. This could be very bad, Jack. Ninety nine percent of what we'll need is probably still classified, and I don't even know what to ask for."

"Jim's military record, including the covert stuff, is a good starting place," Kelso replied. "I'll go back to my place, and start contacting my sources." He chuckled, recognizing Langfield's puzzled look when he glanced at the time. "Not a problem. Night is the best time to contact these people. Most of them don't come out of their caves until midnight, and that's DC time. I'll see you in the morning, and maybe I can be of more help."

Langfeild said his goodbyes, and left additional instructions with the staff. He had an interview to arrange.

*****

"Simon, why do I have to stay here? I can see why I need to take some of this stuff out of the loft, but why a hotel?"

"Sandburg, I don't know. David Langfield charges, what, a thousand an hour? If he says move, you move. Now quit grousing." Simon dumped the second load of boxes, mostly clothes, on the bed. "At least you have a bed that's a decent size."

"Simon, I've changed my mind," Blair said abruptly, gazing around the elegant room. "I want you to take the sentinel stuff to your place. I think it will be safer there."

Simon faced the grad student in shock. Sure Jim had trusted him with this secret, but the research notes? "I guess so, Sandburg, but don't you want to keep them close?"

"I do, but...I just have a bad feeling about this. Like I need to have some separation to really make sure they aren't disturbed. They can search my office, they can search here, I suppose." He halted, his concern obvious. "Please, Simon. I don't know why this seems so important, but it does."

"Okay, Sandburg. I'll take them to the house before I run this stuff to the jail."

"What?" Blair protested. "But you can't leave me here! I need to see Jim, make sure he's okay."

"Sandburg, the Cascade Detention Facility doesn't have drop-in hours," Simon growled, his voice rising. "We had to use major leverage to get Jim in our custody in the first place, and we're not going to screw it up by violating normal procedure. If we do, that Walters character will have every justification he needs to get Jim away from us." He gestured to the box of linens, blankets and clothing Blair had gathered together at the loft. "We can justify taking that stuff on medical grounds. You aren't included in the deal."

"Simon, I need..."

"You need to unpack. You need to order something to eat. You need to call Langfield and see what he wants you to do. You DO NOT need to go on a field trip to the station!" Simon's voice hit crescendo. This was one argument Sandburg was not going to win.

Blair flopped into a huge overstuffed chair and picked up the phone. He glared at Simon as he rummaged through his pockets, locating the phone numbers that he needed. "Fine. I'll just stay here in my gilded cage."

Tucking the sentinel files under his arm, Simon grabbed the box for Jim and quietly let himself out. Normally, he wouldn't have hesitated over a parting shot, but the devastated look on Sandburg's face kept him silent.

*****

The interview would be taped in the offices of Carter and Linder. Wendy had been fussing for the last thirty minutes, getting everything set up the way she wanted. She had Steven change clothes twice. His business suit was too stuffy; the sport shirt didn't look serious enough. She settled on a dark green cashmere sweater as what she wanted - concerned, responsible, classy without looking too wealthy. Rich and spoiled would put the viewing public off. A good, hard working citizen terribly worried about his wrongly accused older brother was what they wanted.

Langfield taped a short session with her, simply stating that Detective Ellison had been wrongly accused and was entitled to a vigorous defense. A few judicious references to Jim's record as a police officer in Cascade went into the mix. Nothing inflammatory or unethical. Wendy could throw in whatever she wanted about his legal reputation. The important thing was that coupled with Steven's more personal insights, it would establish a sympathetic tone.

As Wendy went over the last minute details with Steven, Langfield flipped through the research materials Wendy had with her. Her news department had done a credible job in just a few hours. At trial they couldn't necessarily introduce Ellison's police record into evidence, per se, but it wouldn't hurt to have the general public and the press reminded of what the man had been doing in Cascade the last few years.

He made no attempt to review Wendy's questions, nor did he wish to guide the actual interview. Steven's honest reactions were better without any coaching from him. In the news day, Jim Ellison's arrest was a blank canvas. Langfield didn't plan on letting Mason Walters be the only artist at work.

He faded to an unobtrusive corner of the room as Wendy settled into a chair across from Steven. She gave some specific instructions to her cameraman about the angles she wanted shot. Then it was time.

*****

The night shift was starting to arrive by the time Simon reached the detention area. He spoke with Evans, then followed up with Phoebe Davis, who was the night supervisor.

"I don't know, Captain. He's been sleeping most of the time when I've checked him. I still followed the every-fifteen-minute protocol, even though Ellison isn't on suicide watch. The stuff they gave him for the headache seemed to knock him out, but...he just seems restless or something."

"I'll talk to him when I take this stuff in," Simon answered, gesturing to the stuff in the box.

"Well, take these with you, Captain." Evans handed over a small packet containing two tablets. "The medic said he could have these after nine. I think we're close enough. Check him over close. We can call the medical people back down if we need to, or transport him to the ER at Cascade General."

"Do you think it's necessary? Ellison's usually healthy as a horse."

"Just check him. Maybe he just needs his own stuff. Goodnight, sir. I'm off, but Phoebe is a heads-up lady." Evans left with a casual wave, and Simon headed off with Officer Davis.

"Jim? How are you doing, buddy?" Simon said softly. The lights were dimmed, and Jim had his back to the door. He was hunched up, as if trying to keep warm, but the standard issue blanket lay discarded on the floor beside the bunk. At the sound of his Captain's voice, he pushed himself up and leaned against the wall. The normally bright eyes were dull and unfocused.

"Hey, Simon."

"How's it going, Jim?"

"How would you expect it to go, Sir?" Jim answered wearily. "Did Sandburg send something warm?"

"Sure did," Simon answered, digging a fleece pullover out of the bag. "How's your skin?"

"Better, I guess." He shrugged into the sleeves and sighed. "Warm at last. What else?"

Simon pulled out a soft wool afghan Sandburg had sent, mentioning that it was Jim's favorite. He'd gone on and on about the importance of natural fibers and vegetable dyes until Simon had lost patience and shut him up. "This should be better than the jail issue at least."

"You have no idea. Just the detergents are...well, doesn't matter now. Did Langfield do what I asked?"

"Yes, and I give you my word that we'll keep an eye on the kid. Evans gave me these," he said, holding out the tablets. "You want them?"

"I guess. The headache never really went away." Jim ripped the packet opened, but his fingers seemed to fumble at the task. He swallowed the tablets dry. "Thanks for coming back, Simon. I'm sorry about the whole mess."

"Don't be. Just get some rest so you can help your attorney tomorrow."

Jim lay back, his eyes drooping. "I don't have a lot of activity choices in here, Simon, unless you want to bring down some paperwork for me to do. Think anyone would mind?" he joked feebly.

"Your paperwork is bad enough without adding jailhouse anecdotes. Goodnight, Jim."

"Night, John Boy."

Simon snickered from the doorway. "I've left you with Sandburg entirely too long. I'll be back in the morning, or send Joel down."

*****

"Damn! Damn it all to hell!" Mason Walters exploded, just stopping himself short from hurling his scotch glass through the window.

Six minutes! They'd used six whole minutes on Channel Five's eleven o'clock broadcast for the Ellison case, and most of it had gone to Langfield and an exclusive interview with Ellison's brother. His own press conference didn't even make the broadcast, but Chief of Police Warren's had. Channel Five was the top dog in local broadcasting, all the other stations would follow their lead. That meant the next day's news cycle was out of his control unless he could get the initiative back.

He chastised himself. He'd made a major mistake. He hadn't taken Langfield seriously, or expected a counterattack today, especially when Langfield had just gotten into town. He'd lost his advantage in the press, mostly because those two interfering police captains had ruined a perfectly orchestrated arrest.

Walters returned to his desk and shoved the case files aside. He'd need a new strategy to take the advantage back from that old fox Langfield. He'd definitely lost the battle today, but he didn't intend to lose the war.

*****

__

Jim drifted in the familiar sound, low and throaty, as the rudder beat the air. It was a steady rhythm that meant safety.

Faint plops began to hit, first at random, followed by bursts. Fire hitting the shell of their safe world within the chopper. The hits came faster, shrieking through the metal skin. Thuds as explosions shook them. Holding Sarris as he slumped forward. Damp, sticky liquid flowing over his hands.

Heat from the flames and the screams, always calling his name. Terror as they plunged into black, bracing himself for the impact on the jungle floor.

"Detective! Ellison! Wake up!" Jim thrashed back, striking his head on the wall. Wincing from the pain, he struggled to clear his vision. His skin felt cold and clammy, and the headache was back. Phoebe Davis, the night supervisor, was standing over him, shaking his shoulders. He jerked away, unsure where memory ended and reality began.

"Easy there. You just scared the shit out of me. I thought someone must be in here swinging a cleaver." Jim's eyes searched the gray walls, fully expecting to see them pocked with bullet holes. He stared woodenly at Davis, still unable to form a coherent sentence.

"Hell, Ellison, you must be an interesting bed partner. Come on. Just sit up slow. Let me get you some water." Davis returned, not with just the water in a paper cup, but a damp towel. After he'd downed the contents of the cup, she rubbed the sweat from his neck and face. She watched him carefully while he finished the job. "Rules or not, you're wringing wet, and you're shaking again. I'm going to let you shower and pull it together, and I couldn't care less if it's the middle of the night and against the rules." She was kneeling beside him now. "My Dad served in Viet Nam, so I can make a guess. How long have you been carrying that one around in your head, Ellison?"

"Too long," Jim answered, torn between gratitude and embarrassment. He started to stand, but ended up back on the bunk. Davis steadied him gently and he made it on the second try. "Thanks, Phoebe. A shower might put me back in the land of the living." He walked carefully at her side and down the hallway, another jail aide running nervously beside them. His jangling keys stabbed through Jim's hearing despite his best efforts. He leaned on Phoebe's shoulder when he couldn't quite keep his equilibrium. When she left, it took all his concentration to shed his clothes and adjust the tap.

He leaned against the cold tiles and groaned. He hoped the water would wash away the images of blood dripping from the green forest foliage that still danced before his eyes.

*****

"Room Service. Room service for Mr. Sandburg." The knock was insistent, and the voice annoyed him. He burrowed back under the blankets, but the voice at the door was still there. Blair stumbled to the door, wrapping himself in a thick terry robe provided by the hotel. The garment felt strange. It was a far cry from the ratty garment Jim made fun of at the loft. When he finally got the door open, he stared at the banquet on the cart, trying hard to explain that he hadn't ordered breakfast, certainly didn't order it for six in the morning, and most certainly didn't have the money for the food or the tip."

"That's just fine, Blair. I ordered." David Langfield had just appeared in the hallway, and took possession of the cart. He was already dressed in a three-piece suit. Wheeling the cart into the suite, he discarded the jacket on one of the armchairs and began to enthusiastically fill the plates. "There you go," he said cheerfully. "Start with the eggs and the toast. I also ordered some cinnamon rolls that come highly recommended.

He examined the tousled man before him and filled a cup with steaming coffee. "I used to look like you every morning, back in law school. Somehow, the older I get the easier it is to wake up."

Blair inhaled the aroma from the cup before drinking. "I'll remember that. Mornings improve with age. I don't mean to sound ungracious, but why am I here, Mr. Langfield?"

"You're here because I need you, and because Jim asked me to," Langfield answered firmly. He took a mouthful of eggs. "Heaven," he mumbled. "Wish I could eat like this every morning. The first lesson of the day, Mr. Sandburg, is 'David'. D - A - V- I - D. Shall we practice?"

Blair snickered. "In case you didn't notice, courtroom law is not my area of expertise. Just what am I supposed to do?"

"Help me with Jim. Pay attention to details I don't know and he won't remember." He broke off a corner of a cinnamon roll. "For a cop, being on the other side of the law is a devastating experience. Jim Ellison may play the stoic with the best of them, but it is messing with his head. As well intentioned as the Ellison family may be, it doesn't take a genius to realize that you are his real emotional support. He'll need it."

"Will I see him today? I'm really worried."

"Click on the TV, will you? I want to see how the local news shows are taking it today." Blair grabbed the remote and tuned to a local channel, leaving the volume on mute so they could continue to talk. "As for visiting Jim, we're walking a very fine line. We want to utilize the more or less comforting environment of the Cascade PD without inflaming Walters to the point that he demands a transfer. For one thing, Jim needs to go to the meeting with the prosecutor in jail overalls."

Blair shuddered, knowing how Jim would react to that, emotionally and physically. "He was having such a tough time with his - uh, allergies, yesterday. That could be a problem."

"So you solve your first problem for the day. Visually, he needs to be in coveralls. He walks in dressed in street clothes and Walters goes into a scripted tirade about preferential treatment and moving the prisoner from the PD. He's working on the text right now, I guarantee it."

"Well, he could wear something under it," Blair answered, going into academic mode. "Alternately, the coveralls could be washed several times in products that Jim is tolerant of."

"Do both. When you go to Major Crime this morning, get some overalls in Jim's size and launder them. Get a catalog company to rush us an order of garments he can wear underneath, maybe in cotton or silk. The fund will cover the expenses."

"Okay. That's my entire assignment for today? Laundry?"

"Nope. I want you whenever I meet with Jim, and definitely at the meeting with the prosecutor. You're also going to be the liaison with Kelso."

"Was Jack a help last night?" Blair asked, munching through a piece of toast.

"Yes, but he'll be more valuable as time goes on. He was going to work back channels last night after he left. I'll call him in just a minute. Here we go. Hit the mute."

They sat in rapt attention as the morning anchor started his summary. 

*****

Mason Walters let the tie go limp and glared at the screen. He forced down his frustrated rage and tried to judge the tone and the substance of the report with a professional ear. He needed to find an opening soon to shift the press coverage back in his favor. What they didn't talk about was as important as what they discussed at length.

He watched Steven Ellison's interview again. Plenty of reference was made to Ellison's success in fighting crime in Cascade. He could detect Langfield's skilled hand. What he couldn't bring up in court he wanted to wanted to have fresh in everyone's mind.

He stabbed at the phone, bringing up the home number of one of his beleaguered assistants. The early hour was not his concern, and he felt no guilt when the wife of the household answered. Her exhausted voice could barely be heard over a crying infant. Walters remembered vaguely there was a new baby in the house, but that was their problem. This was work, after all.

"Drew, I want you to access Ellison's cases and have a summary on my desk by ten. Don't be an idiot," he answered sharply. "I don't care about his conviction rate. I need examples of questionable methods, and any hint of contact with drugs, money or international criminal figures. I don't know how you'll get it. That's why you're the assistant. Now go assist." He ended the call, not interested in any further discussion. He needed to get to the office. He had strategy to plan.

*****

Simon brushed past the skinny reporter camped on his doorstep and then thought better of it. Officially, the Cascade PD would issue no additional statements, so he would have limited opportunities to help his detective. When he turned he nearly smacked into the young man, who was focused on pursuing his long strides and didn't pick up on the change of direction.

"Is Detective Ellison being treated like a typical prisoner?" he blurted out, trying to recover his composure as well as his balance. It wasn't every day you ran into a mountain of police captain, literally speaking.

"No. He can't be for security reasons," Simon answered firmly. "To protect him from retaliation, he needs to be housed away from the other prisoners. At the moment we're using a wing designed for inmates on suicide watch."

"Can you confirm or deny that Ellison was in street clothing during his incarceration yesterday, and had food delivered? Isn't that against regulations?"

Simon inwardly cursed their apparent leak in the jail. He could see where this was going. "Detective Ellison was evaluated by medical personnel yesterday, and we followed their recommendations. Making adjustments based on medical needs IS standard Cascade PD procedure."

"What was he treated for? Is he ill?"  


"I'm not sure I can release that information, but Ellison was given medication and several steps were taken to relieve his distress. As I said, we operated under medical advice, and everything was perfectly consistent with department policy. If someone's concerned that Ellison is washing down oysters on the half shell with champagne, they couldn't be more wrong."

"Will Major Crime be assisting in Detective Ellison's defense?"

"It would be inappropriate for the Department to do so. We will provide any and all records concerning Jim Ellison to either prosecution or defense when it is requested through proper channels." He smiled. So what if any request from Walters got lost for a bit? Paperwork's a bitch even during the computer age.

The reporter seemed to have run out of steam at that point. Simon climbed into his car, chewing contentedly on his cigar. The angels were smiling when he had a good round with the press so early in the morning.

*****

Joel Taggart was still on the phone when Simon stepped into his office. Phone calls had been flying back and forth, and he'd appropriated Banks' office for simplicity's sake. "Hey, Simon," he said, covering the receiver. "Here's the list so far," he said, tossing a legal pad across the desk.

Simon grabbed the pad and started reading. "We're washing jail coveralls with detergent Blair brought in?" He shook his head as Joel covered the phone and started to explain. "No, I can guess. The Sandburg zone. Who's got that job?"

"Rhonda got one of her friends with an apartment nearby to do it. I had to send Pangle to cover a phone while she's gone."

"Well, we can live without him for a few hours. Mason Walters requested all of Jim's case files? My God, does he want us to bring the place to a standstill?"

"I told Rhonda to get a clerk from records and spend 20 minutes out of every hour helping out. To save time we're making two copies so we can send one to Jim's attorney, cause he's sure to ask."

"Don't send anything without the right paperwork," Simon directed, pouring a cup of coffee. "We don't want to give Walters any excuses."

"Request is in the works," Joel assured him. "We'll hold it until the real thing arrives."

"Blair's been in to see Jim, I see. Did he follow the sign-in procedures?"

"To the letter. I went with him. He had some silk stuff for Jim to wear under the jail coveralls. We could have just taken them in based on yesterday, but Langfield made a big deal over it, and he wanted to get the medical staff to formally note the recommendation."

"Lawyers," Simon interjected, not looking up from his reading.

"Yeah. Blair spent about twenty minutes with Jim. We've got a problem there, Simon."

"Which one of many?" Simon answered sarcastically. 

"I talked with Pheobe, the night supervisor, while I was waiting for Blair. Jim had a real serious flashback, in her opinion. Scared her to death, and she's a pro at her job."

Simon considered that new piece of information. "What did Sandburg say?"

"Not much, but I got the impression it wasn't a complete surprise. I think Langfield should know. Maybe he can use it to Jim's advantage, but mostly I'm worried about Jim."

Simon thought back to the weeks after Sam Holland was killed. "I don't think it's the first time. I suspected something was going on right after the Ben Chavez thing, but Blair convinced me to leave it alone. You know how keen Ellison is on visiting the departmental shrinks. I'll talk to him. Thanks for the heads-up."

"The rest is routine." Joel finally finished his phone conversation and relinquished the desk. "I wish there was more we could do, Simon. It's wrong to have Jim rotting down there in a cell."

"We'll have to wait until Langfield and Walters meet. It's scheduled for early this afternoon. Until then..." Simon shrugged. Both men sipped their coffee, guessing it was the calm before the storm.

*****

David Langfield and Blair were crammed into Jack Kelso's office. Jack sacrificed seating to free up additional floor space in his office, since it was easier for his wheelchair. Blair was perched on the windowsill, the late morning sum accenting the shadows under his eyes. The remaining chair was occupied by Langfield, who was busy scanning some computer printouts.

"There's still a lot of gossip circulating about Oliver," Kelso continued. "He apparently kept quite a few people quiet through intimidation. Now all of those individuals have to decide whether it's better to come clean, or wait it out, hoping their name never surfaces as the Agency traces Oliver's career."

"That's what he was going to do to Jim, wasn't it?" Blair asked. "Use the false records to keep Jim quiet?"

"I believe so," answered Kelso. "Everything points to it, and the conversations I've had indicate that was Oliver's favorite strategy. Co-opt the enemy, so to speak." He rolled his chair into the middle of the room. "All my sources say it looks like Jim's accusation was the closest call Oliver ever had. Jim had such an outstanding reputation he was hard to ignore. People took what he said seriously. The scrutiny was sooo close to revealing Oliver's activities. I guess it's a mixed blessing that Jim was unaware of what impact his allegations were having, and left the service instead."

"In what way?" Langfield asked as he read I'll be working those.

"If Jim had been successful, Oliver would have been stopped nearly ten years sooner," Jack explained. "That's a lot of drugs, a lot of death and destruction. The blessing is that Oliver never pursued Jim as soon as the threat was removed. Jim never had to face the trumped up charges. It would have ruined his career, maybe his whole life. He certainly never would have become a cop had those questions been raised about his background."

"In case you haven't noticed, that's exactly what's happening right now, Jack. What are we going to do?" Blair asked.

"I've located some individuals that are willing to guide us through the document search. It's all unofficial for right now. As I said, some parties may wish to keep this matter forever submerged. I suspect, if it comes to trial, at least some of them will be willing to do the right thing. We just can't push them too hard too soon."

"This is the list?" Langfield asked, locating the specific page. "We've got thirty specific documents here. What a nightmare. Freedom of Information paperwork on everything. I'll be working those Carter and Linder people to death."

"I think I'll have twice that much by tomorrow," Jack stated confidently. "Self-interest is powerful, but Oliver was a hated man. Even people who didn't know Jim personally don't want Oliver to pull down another good guy from beyond the grave."

"It's going to be a challenge to get the pertinent information in as evidence if we have to go to trial. More importantly, I'd like to get enough to stop the entire proceedings from going forward," Langfield commented, still absorbed in the printout.

"You mean if it goes to trial, Jim's toast even if he wins? No matter what we find? Is that what you're saying?" Blair didn't hide the anger in his voice.

"Unfortunately, yes," Langfield answered. "I won't lie to you, Blair. Even a clear victory won in court may not restore Jim's life to what it once was."

Blair leaned his head back against the window frame, staring upwards. "He had a premonition," Blair mused softly. "Right after the whole thing went down, he had terrible nightmares. Went without sleep, anything to keep the images out of his head. I remember sitting with him, saying something like 'he's dead, you can let it go' and Jim said something like - I don't remember exactly - that it would never be over, that Oliver would haunt him forever." He looked up at the other two men in the room. "I shouldn't have said that. I broke a confidence. I promised Jim."

"It's okay, Blair. It doesn't need to go beyond this room. It may be fortunate in the long run. I need to know where my client is coming from when I advise him." Langfield turned his attention to Jack. "I trust you to run these people, but if I could depose even a few of them, it would be very meaningful. The prospect of getting conflicting testimony from the witness stand would give Mason Walters pause. He won't push this case if he thinks it's going to blow up on him at trial." He stood up, motioning to Blair. "Get me what you can, Jack, in whatever way you can. I think the outcome may depend on it."

*****

Back in the car, Langfield watched Sandburg carefully. Something was definitely bothering the young man. "I need your impressions from Jim this morning," Langfield stated conversationally. "His conditions of incarceration are definitely going to come up when we meet with Walters."

"He's still struggling with the headaches. The medication is a double-edged sword. Jim's really sensitive to a lot of drugs, so I'm pretty sure he'll only ask for something if he's desperate. One of my former students is a buyer for one of the big department stores. I called her and she got some silk stuff. Between that and the bedding, his skin is better. That alone eliminates a lot of stress. Jim thought they were weird, but he put them on under the coveralls and he seemed okay." He couldn't help grinning. "Jim's language about his new clothes was salty, to say the least. He cooperated eventually." The smile faded quickly.

"Blair, I can't help him if you don't tell me the rest." It was a guess on Langfield's part, but his instincts were usually pretty good. Blair remained silent, and stared out the window.

"Blair, don't try it. Those parking lots aren't that interesting. You may have to put Jim's best interests as a higher priority than his wishes."

"It's not an issue of his interests. It's an issue of trust, David."

"Jim does trust you."

"Trust is a fragile commodity with Jim Ellison. He's had too much betrayal in his life." Blair was still looking out the window, clearly agonizing over his decision. Langfield couldn't help but be intrigued with their relationship, and speculate. What was the glue that held it together? 

"I think he had another one of those nightmares," he said finally. "I need to talk to the night supervisor privately, but it sounded like it. He had a really bad time before. If they started up again...I don't know," he finished weakly.

Langfield's mind was already racing ahead. "Were Jim's flashbacks ever treated? Did he go to the department psychologist?"

"No. He wrote a journal. I guess I sort of talked it over with Simon."

"We can work with that. If he has undergone psychological treatment it would give us leverage to have him released until trial."

"This is not going to happen, David. Jim would fire you first. Drop the whole idea, for all our sakes." Blair's eyes flashed defiantly. "I'm serious. You push this and it will blow up in your face."

"It's in his best interests..."

"David, this is why you said I was along. To help you deal with Jim. Listen to what I'm telling you, man. This conversation never happened, and I mean it."

*****

Mason Walters was good at his job as a Federal Prosecutor. His staff might not have an abundance of kind words to say about their boss, but he knew how to pull a case together quickly. Two assistants were busy organizing their materials when David Langfield showed up for their meeting, entourage in tow. Walters concentrated on analyzing the competition. He needed to regain the advantage.

Walters had expected the personnel from Carter and Linder. He knew them by reputation, and had seen them in court on a few minor matters. They were both bright and capable. Langfield obviously wasn't taking the case casually. There was too much personal history between the two of them for that to be the case. Steven Ellison was also there. Walters recognized him from the television interview. That also wasn't unusual. Family members or spouses could be present, and the grapevine had it that the younger brother was providing the cash for the legal defense.

The youngest member of the group was of more interest to Walters, although they hadn't met. He was relatively short, bright blue eyes and a head of long curly pulled back into a leather tie. So this was the civilian observer from Rainier University who rode with Ellison. Walters noted that Ellison made eye contact with him before acknowledging anyone else in the room. Interesting. How fortunate the young academic had chosen to come, considering he would be one of the topics of discussion.

Ellison had arrived, dutifully escorted by official personnel. Walters inwardly sighed with regret. He was in regulation garb and arrived in handcuffs, everything done by the book. He had hoped to raise that issue and have Ellison transferred to Federal custody. Not only did it give him more control, it would remove the Cascade PD as a potential player. Someone had given them good advice, and he had fewer openings for an objection. As everyone assumed their places, Walters acknowledged his counterpart. "Well, David, I was surprised to see you. I didn't think the northwest was your usual area of interest."

"Just a fortunate coincidence, Mason," Langfield answered with a smile. 

"I assume you've familiarized yourself with Detective Ellison's situation. We could save some time and discuss a deal," Walters started. He smiled broadly. It wasn't going to happen, but he could dream. He didn't miss the gleam of anger in Ellison's eyes. Langfield would have his hands full keeping that one under wraps.

"You've done a remarkable revisionist history, Mason, but it's based on a deal with known associate of Norman Oliver. The charges are on shaky ground from the get-go."

"The files support her story. You have the material." 

"The files are a fairy tale," Langfield shot back sharply. "There's no continuity, Mason. The supposed files are more than ten years old. Nothing in Ellison's more recent activity supports the allegations."

"That still doesn't explain the files."

"We can. When Detective Ellison returned from Peru, he accused Colonel Oliver of deliberately sabotaging the mission. We have plenty of documentation to show that Oliver routinely silenced any opposition within the organization with blackmail. The files concerning Ellison were fabricated for that purpose alone, and never used, because Ellison left the service and came home to Cascade. That matches with the statement Ellison gave when the arrests were made. Your star witness is just trying to bargain her way out of a conviction."

"It's his word against hers," Walters replied calmly. "Those files look pretty damn convincing from where I sit."

"Only if a jury buys it that Ellison was active in the drug trade before and since. Why would he kill Oliver and protect Ben Chavez if he's hooked up with drugs? The record stand for itself."

"Detective Ellison's record stood up until this point because there was never a reason to consider a different interpretation. Maybe he was just eliminating Oliver because he and the boss didn't see eye to eye anymore. That's what Tonya maintains. Who is actually able to corroborate Ellison's elaborate story of being kidnapped? No one. Who saw what went on up on that roof? No one. For all we know, Ellison killed Sam Holland himself."

"That's a lie," growled Jim. He would have continued, but Langfield quieted him with a hand on his arm.

"If that's the best you've got, Mason, I encourage you to reconsider," Langfield stated firmly. "Detective Ellison has a record here in Cascade that is above reproach. You're going to have to produce an awful lot to reverse that standing."

Walters smiled. "The record isn't so clear when examined with fresh eyes. Let's consider some examples. Ellison made a very large cash payment on his residence that doesn't match up with his resources. That's classic for someone involved with drugs, who also doesn't think he needs to be careful. Maybe all those successful drug cases were just Ellison clearing the field for his own pipeline. He works alone and maybe there's a reason. He doesn't have to worry about an honest partner to contradict his interpretation of things." Langfield tightened his grip around Jim's arm.

"Mason, it's all speculation."

"Besides," interrupted Blair, "I can corroborate a lot of that stuff. Jim didn't plan on meeting Sam Holland. Holland called him. I was there. I was in the loft when Oliver's goons came in shooting, for God's sake."

"Ah, Mr. Sandburg." Walters broke into a huge grin. "Let's consider you in particular. There's no logical explanation for your presence with Detective Ellison. Why would a cop who won't tolerate a partner suddenly adopt a graduate student from Rainier?" He flipped open a file. "Let's see what we have here, shall we. Moves in with Ellison after the explosion of a drug lab in his building. Interesting association for a police observer, but no investigation to see if you were connected to the lab. Treatment for a drug overdose. Travel all over the world, particularly South America." He flicked the corner of the file with his thumb. "Mr. Sandburg, you're no use to Ellison as a functioning cop, but I think you'd do quite nicely as someone arranging smuggling routes from all over the world, for example." His attention swiveled back to Langfield. "I can assure you that we'll be closely examining Mr. Sandburg's activities as we prepare for trial."

Ellison was whispering to Langfield. Walters knew he had hit a nerve. He was probing for weak spots, and Sandburg was definitely worth pursuing.

"Look all you want," snapped Blair. "I don't do drugs."

"You're not interested in discussing options, I take it," Walters continued smoothly. "I assume you'll be entering a plea of Not Guilty tomorrow, David?"

"Yes, and you can also assume I'll be moving for dismissal. Do we have a time?"

"We're scheduled for 2PM in Judge Kline's courtroom, unless that's too soon for you."

"Not at all," Langfield answered with a wolfish smile. "I look forward to having Detective Ellison released at the earliest opportunity."

Walters was thinking wildly. Things were going too quickly. He'd planned on more give and take with Langfield, more opportunities to test his various strategies. "I hope you'll be more open to other options before trial. Nice interview with the family, by the way," he added, nodding in Steven's direction, "but I'd go easy on the war hero stuff, if I were you. Ellison claimed not to remember much about his time in Peru. Everyone excused it, but his activities were never verified by any outside source. It's just another example of taking Ellison's word and not examining it closely. For all we know, Ellison was working that side of the drug operation when he was in the jungle. " 

"That's ridiculous, Mason."

"We were there to stop the drug traffic, and for eighteen months that's exactly what the Chopec did," Ellison added angrily. His hostility was growing. Walters was pleased he'd hit another sensitive area.

"And who are we going to ask, Detective? The Chopec Chamber of Commerce?" Walters asked mockingly.

"The Chopec are a proud warrior people, Walters. Don't denigrate them." Ellison was clearly getting agitated. Sandburg had shifted closer and seemed to be muttering under his breath, all his concentration on the glowering Ellison. "They're more civilized than the average occupant of this room."

"We're just discussing possibilities here. Honestly, David, it's certainly open to interpretation in light of the Oliver files. For all we know, maybe Ellison needed a clear field and took his own team out. We'll see you -"

He never finished the sentence. Ellison came out of his seat with a roar and lunged across the table. He might have made it if Sandburg hadn't tackled him at the same time. He was still trying to slow him down when Langfield pitched in on the opposite side.

"I DID NOT KILL MY OWN TEAM! OLIVER SET US UP!" Ellison lashed futilely at the bodies dragging him down. Walters had been hoping to strike a nerve, but he'd miscalculated. He'd lost control of the encounter. 

"JIM! Don't do it, Jim." With Langfield's help, Sandburg pushed the larger man against the wall. "Let it go, man. Another time. No one believes that shit, Jim." He continued in a lower tone right up in Ellison's face. The man was glaring at Walters with murderous intent, but he seemed to be listening to Sandburg. Walters didn't mind having the large conference table between them.

Langfield spun around, his own temper on boiling. "That was irresponsible, Counselor, blatantly irresponsible. I'll be asking for a review of your conduct at the earliest opportunity. I suggest you get out of here before I let Ellison have you for breakfast."

Walters was desperate to take some kind of advantage. "He should obviously be in restraints. This is consistent with his behavior when the agents attempted to take him into custody. From now on..."

"Don't even think about it, Walters," Langfield interrupted. He leaned across the table. "Detective Ellison is not going anywhere in shackles. I'll bring the wrath of God down on your head. Time to call it a day, Counselor. We're done. See you in court."

Walters shrugged and snapped his briefcase closed. He could regroup later. His aides were scrambling to gather up their files, clearly considering it expedient to get out of the room before anyone came to blows. He stalked out, leaving them to their fate.

Drew Noble ducked into an alcove off the conference room. Walters had come in his own car, and had disappeared without speaking to them. He looked shakily at his friend, Peter Rouse, who was clutching most of the hastily gathered case files without much success.

"What a fiasco. Check the parking lot, Peter. See if our lunatic boss is gone."

Peter peered out the window. "Pulling out right now. Shit, Drew, what are we going to do? The guy is certifiable."

Drew shook his head. "I've seen him pull plenty of stunts that are in the gray area, but this is beyond the pale. Langfield is right - his conduct should be under review."

Peter joined him on the marble bench. "Do you think Ellison is the bad guy here?"

"Did you look at the guy? Not a chance. Walters is always looking for an edge. He wanted a high profile case, and a guy like Ellison is as high profile as it gets. Peter, he's going to get caught on this one. It would be just like our exalted boss to dump it on our heads when it backfires. Kiss your career goodbye, my friend."

They sat in silence. In the distance they could hear Langfield's voice. Ellison was being escorted back to jail, and the others were leaving. "Drew," said Peter firmly, "you're going straight down to Personnel."

"I am?"

"You are. You're going to go down there and fill out the paperwork for family-leave. You have a new baby. You're entitled. Do it now."

"But, Emily and I..."

"Forget it. You're going home. Today. I'm joining a private firm in a couple of months. I'm going to go have a chat with our boss, and let the chips can fall where they may."

*****

David Langfield patiently sipped his coffee. Jason Carter wasn't just the senior partner for Carter and Linder, he was an old hand be anyone's definition. The fact that he chose to use his Harvard degree for the family firm in Cascade didn't diminish his judgement.

"I have to agree, David. Our two associates had the same take on the meeting. Mason Walters' conduct is certainly open for review. I knew the man was ambitious, but this is too much. How do you want to handle it?

"Tell me about our Judge. How's he going to view this?"

"Lucas Kline. He's a stickler, holier than the Pope when it comes to ethics. He won't be happy."

"Sounds like a good draw for Ellison," Langfield mused.

"I'd say so. Kline a no-nonsense kind of man, and has military somewhere in his career. He'd be sympathetic to someone of Ellison's background. Although, if Waters can convince him Ellison's a bad cop, he'll come down on him hard."

"Ellison isn't a bad cop, Jason."

"I don't believe so either. I suggest we prepare the complaint concerning Walters conduct and have it ready to use at a moment's notice, at your discretion, of course. I'll do it myself."

"Jason, that isn't necessary..."

"William Ellison is one of my oldest friends. He and Jimmy haven't always been on good terms, but I feel an obligation to both father and son. I insist."

"Agreed then. I'm grateful for the assistance."

"I'll get back to my office and leave you to it, David. Let me know if you need anything else."

Langfield just smiled as he departed. The facilities provided by Carter and Linder couldn't have been better, and both men knew it. That task accomplished, Langfield dialed his DC office. Walters had just been shooting his mouth off, but it had given him an idea. If he couldn't get Ellison's permission to review medical records, he could pry the mission files out of the military, classified or not. Ellison had to have been debriefed after his rescue from Peru, and part of that debriefing would have been physical and psychological. Langfield intended to review every word.

*****

"Mr. Walters, I need to see you, sir."

Mason Walters looked across the room at his assistant. "Where have you been, Peter? I need those case files. Where's Noble?"

"Excuse me, sir, but the case can wait. I'm afraid you need to make a phone call, sir."

Walters exploded. It had been a bad day, and he wasn't in the mood for any more distractions. He'd handled the meeting with Langfield badly, and he knew it. "Get those files, Peter. This conversation is over."

"No, sir." Peter Rouse took a deep breath as Walters turned his fury in his direction. "You need to call Mr. Langfield and apologize before he files a complaint. If he files, you'll be disciplined. You can shout all you want, but it's true."

"You have no right to question my conduct. Get out."

"Mr. Walters, you have one chance to salvage this from total disaster. Pick up the phone and call before it's too late. Make a concession, anything, but do it now." Walters was quivering with anger, but he fell silent.

"I'll leave the summaries from the Cascade PD material on your desk before I go home today, sir." Peter Rouse left the office, unsure of the outcome. He might be without a job by the time he got back to his own office.

*****

Jim stood at the doorway while one of the assistant officers unlocked the cuffs. Blair could tell from the tension in the tall man's shoulders that he was barely below the level of total explosion. He waited until Jim made it into a chair, rubbing his wrists. The skin under the cuffs was already turning red.

"Your sense of touch must be all over the place. Can you turn it down?"

"Some. I want you out of this, Sandburg."

"Jim, Langfield says the guy is bluffing. He's just throwing accusations around. I'm not going anywhere."

"Sandburg, you ever look at your contract with the University? I'll bet if you check, there's some kind of a morals or conduct clause. He doesn't have to prove it in court to cause you problems. You could loose your fellowship."

"Jim, I am not going to abandon you here. Neither is Steven, neither is anyone in Major Crime. Langfield was on fire when he dropped me off. You're going to plead not guilty, and he's going to prove it."

Jim stared at the floor. "He's right, you know. No one really knows what I did in Peru. I don't know everything that I did in Peru. Incacha's dead. We can't exactly bring one of the Chopec elders in to testify. The point is, Chief, they're all dead. Sam, the members of my team, everyone who could make a definite statement, is dead and gone. If I can't prove, really prove, that he's wrong, it does come down to her word against mine. There's no one else left. It could go either way."

Blair didn't miss the echo of pain. No one left, indeed. He couldn't think of a thing to say. All he could do was stay by his friend's side for as long as Jim was willing to have him.

***** 

"Mr. Langfield? You have a call on line four. It's Mr. Walters."

"Thank you." He paused as the secretary left the office and clicked on the speaker phone. He didn't want to be tied to a desk during this conversation. "David Langfield."

__

"Hello, David. We parted on an awkward note. Perhaps we can smooth things over."

"Cut to the chase, Mason. Before or after the complaint is filed?"

__

"Always the diplomat, David."

"Give me a reason to continue this conversation or I'm hanging up. Drop the charges."

__

"No deal." 

Langfield waited. He had the time. Walters needed something from him, not the other way around. 

__

"All right, David. Tomorrow, when Ellison enters his plea, I won't object to his being released if he surrenders his passport and consents to electronic monitoring."

"I'll fight the electronic monitoring. Ellison has family here, and standing in the community. It's an insult."

__

"Shall we let the judge decide on that point?"

"On the monitoring, but not the release. Do we understand each other?"

__

"We have an understanding, David."

"That's a start. I want to talk about the loft. I know you, Mason. It would definitely be in your bag of tricks to have Ellison released and the confiscate his home with the cameras running." The silence told Langfield that he had guessed correctly. "The payment was legit. Make a quick calculation on an Army Captain's pay for eighteen months. It was Ellison's back-pay from Peru. It more than covers the money put down on the loft."

__

"If that was the case, why didn't Ellison say anything earlier?"

"As far as he was concerned, his military records were sealed and he couldn't prove it. For most people, they are. I'm not most people. The request is in the works. You try this you'll have enough egg on your face to make an omelet."

__

"I'll take it under advisement."

"I'd like a more definite answer, Mason. I have paperwork of interest to you that will be filed before close of business today if we're just wasting time."

__

"We won't pursue it."

"Good. I have one more area you might 'not pursue' - Sandburg."

__

"You're not running my investigation, David."

"Remember, it's an investigation, not a witch-hunt. Put the file in a drawer and forget about it."

__

"We both have files that need to go in the bottom of the drawer, David."

"Have a pleasant evening, Mason. Nice little city you have here. See you in court."

Langfield leaned back in his chair, thoroughly enjoying the moment. Not only had he won the first skirmish, but Walters knew he was in a perilous position. The need avoid disciplinary review would make him cautious. He'd succeeded in pulling the tiger's claws, at least temporarily.

Life was good, so very, very good.

*****

Blair looked mournfully around the loft. The late afternoon light was streaming in the windows, which usually cheered him up, but not today. He wasn't exactly sure why he was here. He would have preferred to stay with Jim, but his friend had begged off and returned to his cell for dinner. It was a dodge. Blair knew he had no intention of eating anything that was on his tray. Blair felt uncomfortable going to the offices at Carter and Linder, and he hated the hotel. 

Thinking of Jim sitting in that cell for hours was an awful thought. Jim hated to be inactive under any circumstances, but now he was upset and withdrawn on top of it. Maybe some reading material would be a good idea. He could just go check on Jim's nightstand and see if he was in the middle of anything. At least it would give him something to do.

Blair stood poised at the top of the stairs for a moment. He rarely invaded Jim's privacy by coming up here. He scanned the surface of the dresser and the nightstands. Nothing was visible. Mr. Neat Freak strikes again. He tweaked one of the nightstand drawers ajar, and he could see what looked like a book cover.

It was a mystery, just the kind of thing Jim often read. A corner was turned down about midway, so it looked like a good candidate. Blair was ready to close the drawer when he noticed a photo, actually a stack of photos, just below. He recognized the face of Sam Holland.

It was wrapped in a letter from Holland's sister. Blair knew he'd feel guilty, but he noted the date and skimmed the letter. It was written shortly after Sam's death, thanking Jim for trying to help Sam, and urging him to keep in touch. Thought you might like these as a keepsake, the letter went on. He pulled the pictures out. These were the men from Jim's unit. He recognized the faces from the group photo of Jim's unit in uniform, but it must have been a picnic or a party that included the families. Blair smiled fondly. There was a picture of Jim pushing two little boys on an inner-tube around a pool, another of a softball game with big fat bats and a grade school girl pitching. One showed the men in the group posed together, vaguely reminiscent of the photo Blair had seen, except the fatigues had been replaced with shorts and Hawaiian shirts. The whole group lined up at a long picnic table with heaping plates, the names noted above each face in a fine feminine hand. Finally, a picture at dusk, all out of focus, with the little ones waving sparklers. It must have been Fourth of July.

Blair swallowed hard. For years this had been Jim's family. These were the faces that haunted his dreams, the faces of his despair. Jim would always carry the burden of these smiling women as widows, and the children growing up without their fathers. The two little guys on the inner-tube were teenagers now, just the right age to be tossing a football around. The girl on the pitcher's mound was learning to drive, or graduating from high school. And that bastard Walters had the nerve to suggest that Jim had plotted the deaths of these men. No wonder he had gone ballistic. No wonder he still mourned their loss as a fresh wound.

He sat on the bed, staring at the photos. One thing Jim had said was true for sure. They were all gone now. Blair ached for his friend, for the essential truth in that statement. There was no one left to speak for Jim Ellison when he needed it most.

*****

"I apologize, David. I need my office to run the back channels again. I'm sorry I haven't found anything for you yet."

"Jack, you've been a huge help," Langfield protested. "Everything you've uncovered is going to be invaluable at trial."

"I'll walk you out to your van, Jack," Blair volunteered. "I know some of those access ramps are kind of tricky. I need the exercise anyway."

They left Langfield buried in his papers, preparing for court. Blair and Jack had spent their evening comparing Jim's military records with the phony files from Oliver's office. They were frustrated and exhausted. Langfield was sure that somewhere there would be a discrepancy that would discredit the files, but painstaking work had turned up nothing so far. Jim's former commanders had been helpful, but they just couldn't find what they really needed.

As they traversed the long corridor Jack Kelso tried to keep the conversation going. In the flurry of concern over Ellison, everyone seemed to forget that the grad student was in just as much anguish as his partner. He was taking this awfully hard. "You know, Blair, just because we don't find it tonight doesn't mean it isn't there. The problem is Oliver had access to the same material we're using to find a discrepancy. He was a careful man. Any obvious errors he weeded out when he put the files together. Give it another hour or so and get some rest. Fight another day."

"I can't, Jack. This is killing Jim."

"It won't do Jim any good if you're not sharp," Jack countered. "I'll call if I get a break, and I'll be in court tomorrow."

Blair shut the door for Jack. Jack started to back out, then stopped the van and rolled down the window. "Blair - I've been doing analysis for a long time. One thing I've learned is that there's always another way to look. A different approach is what brings you success. Take care, now."

Blair found his way to the courtyard around the pool. The chill evening breeze tickled his skin. He threw his head back and let his mind drift, searching for that 'other way' Jack had been talking about.

******

Simon wearily stared at the clock on the wall. It was pitifully close to two in the morning. He desperately needed to get some sleep. 

With Jim in a cell and the whole department in an uproar, Simon had gone on street duty with as many of his people as he could manage. All of them needed to talk, ask the same questions about Jim, get the same answers of reassurance from their Captain. That left his regular workload for later - much later as it turned out.

He could just crash on the couch, and have Darryl bring in some fresh clothes for him in the morning. He wanted to be there when Jim made his court appearance, just for moral support. Actually, if court was on the agenda, maybe he'd have to go home. He was so tired even this tiny decision seemed like Mt. Everest. 

He was at the doorway when the phone started ringing. He turned his back, and then remembered. It was like a rerun of the night Jim had been kidnapped. Late at night, on his way out the door, the phone ringing. That thought was scary enough to send him back for the phone.

"Banks. Who the hell is this?"

"Captain, thank God you're there. I tried your home. It's Phoebe Davis, the night supervisor. Something's wrong with Detective Ellison. He was having another nightmare, and I came to check on him, but now he's staring at the wall and won't respond. Should I call for an ambulance? Does he have some medical..."

"I'll be right there. Wait on the ambulance."

Simon was out the door at a dead run.

*****

David Langfield left his reading. At his request, the hotel had provided one of the oversized tablets used for brainstorming sessions. Blair had ripped it down to single sheets, and for the last two hours they were constructing a giant timeline of Jim Ellison's life, dating back to 1985, connecting the threads from Jim's military records, everything Jack had uncovered, and Oliver's files. It was essentially what they had been doing before, piecemeal, but Blair was blocking it out like a weekly calendar. Their research materials weren't in chronological order, so they were adding bocks of time, usually month by month, as they found them.

"Remind me to never let my lawyers watch you work, Blair," Langfield teased. "This place looks like the inside of a paper shredder."

"Anthropology is messy. You should see my office. What do we have for June of 1987? You look at the stuff on the table, and I'll start over here."

Langfield tossed his felt pen on the floor and started to laugh. "I've tried cases in front of the Supreme Court and you have me crawling around on the floor. I feel like I'm back in first grade doing art, but I like your style."

"Haven't you seen the bumper sticker? Archeologists do it in the dirt? Blair quipped. "We must be tired. I think we're getting silly."

"I spent my entire life in law school this way."

"I'm starting to see a pattern, though."

"Where?" asked Langfield. "We still have so many holes."

"Anthropology and archeology is always full of holes. I'm used to it. That's why we need to see the whole instead of the holes, if you know what I mean." He grinned at his own pun. "The army isn't exactly Monday through Friday, nine to five, but there's usually a block of time after every big mission, and sort-of regular breaks in training. I know Jim's unit was pretty specialized, but it looks to me like they tried to give them holidays when they weren't saving the world from total destruction.

"Hell of a schedule," Langfield mused.

The phone started ringing. "Maybe it's Jack," Langfield exclaimed with excitement, scrambling for the phone. "Langfield. Captain Banks? What...we'll be right there." He slammed down the phone. "Get your shoes, Blair. Something's wrong with Jim."

***** 

Blair blazed by the reception area and headed straight down the maze of hallways. "Jim! Simon...where's Jim? Oh, no..."

Simon was kneeling in a corner of the isolation cell. When he moved aside, Blair could see his friend, folded into the corner. Blair skidded to a stop, already on his knees. He laid an open palm on Jim's chest.

"He's barely breathing. How long, Simon?"

"All total, at least half an hour, maybe more. I did mouth to mouth a couple of times, when I couldn't see him breathing at all. Phoebe is having a fit about not calling an ambulance, and I don't blame her."

"He's zoned. Totally zoned. Get everyone out of the room, and keep them out. An ambulance isn't going to do him any good, if anything, it could be the final straw to push him completely out of our reach." Blair picked up one of Jim's hands, and gently stroked along the back of each finger.

Simon backed out of the room. It terrified him to leave, but Blair would have his best chance if left undisturbed.

*****

Langfield was waiting in the hall, fuming because Phoebe Davis had kept him there. "Where is he, Banks? Why haven't we contacted the medical staff?"

"Phoebe, Blair's got everything under control. I'll be right back." With that, Simon pulled the irate lawyer into a conference room.

"Mr. Langfield, don't say another word. Just listen. Sandburg is with him. He can handle this, but we have to give him time and no interruptions. If you ask anything else, I won't answer it, and if you try to interfere, I'll stop you." He positioned himself in the doorway.

Langfied stared up at the human roadblock. "He's my client. You have no right to bar me..." His voice trailed off, and his eyes narrowed. "This is it, isn't it? You sly son of a bitch. Whatever's going on, this is the reason a top-flight police detective drags around a civiian observer for years at a time. Not to mention he's the most unlikely candidate possible. Sandburg's no cop, and he's smart enough to write three or four dissertations by now."

"He's your client. Assume that it's covered by privilege," hissed Simon, glaring dangerously. "You and I are the only two people in the world that know that. Don't ask them about it, don't ask me about it. This conversation never happened."

*****

Blair was whispering softly in his Sentinel's ear when he felt the first flicker. A soft groan, followed by an ever-so-slight shift in position. The hands he held flexed just a bit. Finally, the eyes fluttered open. Blair's first impression was that Jim was confused, and frightened.

"Take it slow, Jim, don't force it. You know where you are?"

"Yeah," came the hushed whisper. "Jail."

"Your headache's back," Blair stated knowingly.

"Like gangbusters. Shit, I feel bad."

"What's the last thing you remember?" Blair asked, moving in front of him just a bit. He held Jim's gaze and gently massaged his neck and shoulders.

Jim didn't answer. His eyes drifted shut, and he shied away, as if he could avoid the question.

"You can tell me, Jim. We can do it together."

"Going down, in the chopper," Jim finally rasped out. "First the bullets, then the crash. They're all gone. I didn't help them."

"I know, Jim," Blair soothed. "This is all Oliver's doing, and that damn Mason Walters. They brought all the guilt and all the pain back up. It's okay. Your men didn't blame you. They know it wasn't your fault."

"So real. I can't keep doing this, and I can't stop it."

"I think you just spiraled into the memory and zoned. We'll find a way, Jim. We'll break the cycle, I promise. Can you stand?"

He pushed himself up, leaning into the corner for support as he fought for balance. "What are you doing here, Sandburg? You get yourself arrested?"

"Nah. They just gave me free run of the place 'cause you keep frightening the hired help. Let's go talk to Phoebe Davis, and you can apologize for scaring her out of ten years of life. We can get some of those headache meds." With Blair providing some needed support, they started down the hallway.

"She thinks I'm a headcase, Chief. It's really embarrassing."

"Well, no biggee. We're all a little crazy in our own way. That's why there are anthropologists."

*****

"Cascade is a pretty spiffy little place at three in the morning," Langfield commented, wheeling the sedan out of the PD parking garage. "Maybe we should go clubbing. Do they serve lattes instead of martinis in this town?"

"Don't be sarcastic, man. It isn't a good look for you," Blair muttered. "Coffee might be good. Triple expresso or something."

"Forget it, Blair. You're going to sleep and I'm going to sleep. I've had it. First Banks keeps me from my client, then the three of you act like your protecting a damn state secret."

"David, please..."

"Relax, Blair. You get to keep your secret, I get to rant and get over it. No harm, no foul. First we sleep. We'll have a disgustingly huge breakfast from room service at seven and then work like fiends." He overruled Blair's attempt at protest. "It's a federal statute. Don't sass your lawyer."

"We need answers, for Jim's sake. I can sleep in another life."

"So you'll dream the answers. I've written entire briefs in my sleep. Besides, the papers are in my suite, and I'm locking you out."

"For a respected attorney, you play dirty," Blair added over a yawn. It was hard to argue effectively when you couldn't keep your eyes open.

"Correction, my young friend. I'm a respected attorney BECAUSE I play dirty." Langfield parked the car and jiggled the keys in his hands. With a smirk he added, "Only when I have to, of course. I'm a really nice guy, otherwise."

*****

__

Somewhere, in his subconscious, he knew he was dreaming. Watching the scene from the outside, but in it at the same time. He watched a much younger Jim, smiling and laughing. Plenty of teasing and pranks, good food and good friends. Children that adored him, wives that welcomed him into their families.

This was a happier Jim, drying a tear, tying a shoe, not the loner with the too-neat loft and the too-distant work acquaintances. A man not yet scarred by terrible loss and a failed marriage.

A warm summer night, and then the sparklers. Fiery streaks against a darkening sky, held by an excited child. Men who served their country on their county's birthday, guiding those chubby little hands.

"Sandburg! Here's your triple expresso."

"Noooo. It's too soon." Blair mashed a pillow over his head.

"If you don't get up, I'll eat your pancakes. Leave you with crumbs, my young friend. Up and at 'em, Sparky. I'm an old man and I'm out of bed."

"It's because you...oh, forget it. I'm too tired for debate." Blair stumbled across the room. He'd slept in his clothes when they'd returned, so he was clothed. He could guess how his hair looked. Probably sticking out in all directions. He drained the expresso before trying for another sentence.

"This place looks just as bad as it did last night. What did you call it?"

"The inside of a paper shredder." Langfield refilled his cup. "So did you dream our solutions?"

"Oh, man, that's cruel. I was dreaming, but no answers." Blair's face turned sad. "I found some pictures yesterday, of Jim with his men and their families. It was a big picnic, and I was watching." He accepted the cup gratefully. "I understand more than ever why Jim still grieves for them. I'd like to hang Walters from his ears for that comment."

"I may still do that," Langfield assured him. "There are no messages from Jack, so I'm guessing that any chance I have of getting the case dropped is coming from this room. Don't look so bleak," he said, handing Blair a pancake dripping with butter and syrup. "It's not over because we can't get the charges dropped. Eat. You need the energy."

Blair took several bites. The stuff was pretty good. "I usually have an algae shake in the morning, but Jim likes breakfast."

"An algae shake?" Langfield grimaced. "I'd ask to be thrown in jail to escape. What does Jim say?"

Blair laughed. "Exactly what you'd think he'd say."

"I take it Jim repressed some his memories from Peru. I'm waiting for the file on his debriefing."

A bit startled by the abrupt change in subject, Blair nodded. "Big time. I'm not a psychologist, but I think it's a safe bet that the nightmares come because there are things he REALLY doesn't want to remember, stuff he's never come to terms with."

"You know, Blair, if Walters follows on that line of questioning, Jim's mental state is going to come in to play whether I raise it or not. It's better to be pre-emptive. If he's had these nightmares before..."

"Don't go there. I wasn't kidding yesterday. Jim will not cooperate. He will shut us both out and fall on his sword. Leave it alone and hope it doesn't come up."

"Legally, I couldn't think of a worse strategy. You need to trust me."

"I do trust you, but it's not an option." Blair set his plate down, appetite gone. "Guess I'd better get busy, huh?"

"Finish your food, Blair. Sometimes it's my job to upset my clients, you know. Although I admit, I'm more accustomed to getting what I want." He tapped a fork on his china plate in mock anger, getting a weak smile out of his companion. "You, my friend, should be a mild academic, a real pushover for a sneaky, unscrupulous, old lawyer like me. Now, Ellison, I'd bet the farm on using the entire arsenal with him, but you? Where'd you get this stubborn streak? Between the two of you, I'm really getting a complex." He took another bite, encouraging Blair to do the same. "You really didn't dream my answers for me? I was counting on it."

Blair looked over at the papers snaking across the suite and took forced down more pancake. "Sorry. Just my picnic..." He stared at the calendar strung out along the floor of the suite. Holidays. He dropped his fork and was out of his chair, staring at the timeline they'd pieced together. July. Where was July?

David was beside him. "What? What have you got?"

"The pictures! It was Fourth of July. We've got - one, two, three - July's. Two of them, Jim was on duty. The third, Jim was off duty and Oliver has him doing some deal in, in...Los Angeles. He wasn't. He was pushing little kids around a pool and playing baseball. Oliver didn't know that. He had the military records, maybe even Jim's credit card records, but he couldn't know everything. He had to make some educated guesses, take some chances." He grabbed Langfield by the shoulders. "Jim's men are dead, but the families aren't!"

"We can back up photographic evidence with depositions. We have one, there might be more," Langfield chimed in. "Let me think. We have to find the wives."

"I can get Jim's address book."

"They'd be getting survivor's checks. Even if they've remarried, we can find them." He was digging through his briefcase. Locating what he wanted, he started dialing. "I'll get my office in DC moving. Call Jim's old commanders again. The service tends to keep track of its own. Call Banks on your phone and have him talk to Jim. Tell him what we need."

*****

"Sandburg, if you don't stop fidgeting, I'm going to claim you're a terrorist and have you tossed."

"Simon, I ask you, do I look like a terrorist?" Blair protested, gesturing at his outfit. "Coat, tie, I look like a regular upstanding citizen."

Simon looked sternly at the shorter figure beside him. "No one in their right mind would mistake you for 'regular', Sandburg. No one."

"I'm hurt," Blair answered, squirming again. "When will they bring Jim in?

"Pretty soon," assured Joel Taggart from the opposite side. "What did Langfield say the last time you talked with him?"

"Just that it looked pretty good, and he was checking with Jack. There's Jack now." Kelso was threading through the aisle with his wheelchair. Langfield had requested an area be held for his use. He made no attempt to approach the group, but smiled in encouragement.

"Hey, Captain, we're here." Henri Brown was standing behind them. "Rafe and I are in the back. We barely got a seat. The courtroom's jammed. Officially, we're on lunch break, so we'll have to bail if it goes long. See ya, Blair. Let Jim know we're here. There are a lot of cops coming in at the last minute." Henri didn't miss the opportunity to toss a frown in the direction of Mason Walters, who was already in his place. "Jerk," he whispered. "We'll remember his name."

Jim and David Langfield, accompanied by Steven and one of the lawyers from Carter and Linder, arrived together. Jim came through a side entrance. He'd been allowed to change out of the jail coveralls and was dressed in a dark suit. He looked tired but composed. He greeted his lawyer and shook hands all around. "Simon, it would be smarter to keep a little more distance."

"Cascade Police Department stands by their original statement and their Detective. I hope every damn journalist in the place takes my picture."

"We'll even autograph 'em," Joel added. "Keep your chin up, Jim."

"Hey, Chief," Jim said softy. "Heard you've been busy."

"Don't be mad, Jim. It was an accident. I was looking for a book."

Jim smirked. "Doesn't seem like the time to belabor the house rules thing, does it?" There was a rustle of activity as Judge Kline entered the courtroom. "Later, Chief. Here we go."

Blair had great difficulty concentrating on the procedures. He'd been in court with Jim, even testified a few times, so he knew the routine. Today, it all came in as isolated images that didn't connect together. Jim standing to make his plea of not guilty. Langfield stating his motion for dismissal, the action moving to the Judge's Chambers to hear the arguments. As the lead players left the courtroom, Blair leaned forward and whispered. "Listen. I'll kill you myself if you don't."

Jim made no answer, but Blair didn't miss the slight tilt of the head and the angle of the shoulders. Impatient, he sat back to wait and get a few more lectures from Simon about sitting still.

*****

"Judge, this prosecution's case depends on the admission of the secret files from this Colonel Oliver," Langfield began. "Without that evidence, we don't believe the case can proceed. We'd like to challenge that evidence."

"There's no reason to dismiss those files, Your Honor," Walters countered immediately. "This issue should be resolved in court."

"Not if the files are bogus. Detective Ellison had an unimpeachable reputation until the files came to light. If they're false, he shouldn't have to face the trauma of a trial, nor should the city of Cascade be deprived of his service."

"I'll give you some leeway, Mr. Langfield. Show me what you've got."

"With your permission, Judge, I've copied five pertinent passages from these so-called secret files." Langfield placed five folders on the Judge's desk, and handed similar material to Walters. "The second and third pages show confirming material from military sources. I have an expert witness, Jack Kelso, who can testify that Oliver would have had no trouble knowing when Detective Ellison, then Captain Ellison, was off-duty. The files were fabricated to match those time periods."

"Your Honor, this should be done at trial..." Walters protested.

"I'm not finished, Mason," Langfield interrupted sharply. "The remaining pages are faxes of photographs and depositions. On this particular occasion," he said, checking the file quickly, "Detective Ellison was at a private home enjoying a Thanksgiving meal when he was supposed to be doing a drug deal halfway across the country. The deposition is from a Mrs. Tillmon, who was the wife of Ellison's communications officer." He paused while Judge Kline and Walters studied the statements. "Your Honor, Mr. Kelso will state unequivocally that Oliver used this means of intimidation many times, and intended to use it against Captain Ellison after returning from Peru. He counted on the fact that Ellison's men had been eliminated and couldn't support their commanding officer. He didn't plan on their families."

"This is highly irregular, Your Honor," Walters blustered.

Langfield didn't plan on letting him buy additional time. "Judge, we've only been following this line of investigation since this morning, and we found five specific areas of discrepancy. Five different families, with photos and statements to back them up. I think the Fourth of July photos in the third folder are particularly telling. Do we really need to put this good man, not to mention this good city, over the coals? Isn't is obvious what the outcome is going to be?"

Judge Kline took the time to view each file. After looking at the last one, he leaned back in his chair and drummed his fingers on the arm. "Well, Mason, what does the government wish do to? I'd like to hear from you before I make a ruling."

Mason Walters looked from the Judge to the bland, unemotional face of David Langfield. His wandering gaze halted at the deadly, unforgiving eyes that communicated a very different, very personal message. "Your Honor, we can't ignore this evidence. The government will withdraw the charges against Detective Ellison."

"Very good, gentlemen. Let justice be done."

*****

It happened so fast, Blair could barely take it in. As the words, "the people move the charges against James Ellison be dropped," the courtroom erupted into applause. Blair sat rooted in his seat as Jim's face broke into a broad grin and shook hands with Langfield, then his brother and Simon.

Blair reached out to do the same, only to be engulfed in a Jim-sized hug. "I know, Chief," he whispered. "I know." Blair made no attempt to answer around the huge lump in his throat.

David Langfield moved away as well-wishers swirled around Jim, coming to a stop in front of Mason Walters. Leaning close, so no one else could hear, he spoke. "Never again, Mason. I'll never stop watching you." 

And then he was gone. Standing in front of his client and the ecstatic crowd around them, he held up his hands for quiet. "Okay, before we send our good Detective back to active duty, he and I are going to hold a very restrained victory news conference on the steps." He let the laughter settle down. "Then all of us are going to whatever establishment has the most decadent pizza in town. I'm buying the first round of beer." 

Jim looked sternly at Blair and shook his finger. "No vegetarian, Sandburg. Don't even think about it."

*****

They were flaked out on opposite couches, watching. Blair wriggled his shoulders into the cushions and groaned. "I need to sleep for days. Maybe a week." He saw Jim tense, even though he did a pretty decent job of recovering. "Jim? You're worried about those damn flashbacks, aren't you?"

"Trial's over, Sandburg. I'll be fine."

"Nice try, but I can tell even you don't believe it. Come on, Jim, the trial may have been a trigger, but those dreams are about repression, sure as I'm sitting here. They're going to keep coming back until you deal with them."

"Don't ruin the day, Sandburg."

"Don't ruin your life, Jim. We can walk you back through the memory, like we did with Pendergrast."

"I can't."

"I understand that you don't want to, but you can. Please, Jim, I'm your friend. Don't do this to yourself."

He slumped, head in his hands. "I'll try. For you, I'll try."

Blair moved to sit beside him. "Okay, you know what to do. Close your eyes, listen to my voice. Breathe..."

__

The sound of the rotor blades. You always heard those. During an insertion you went in quiet, everyone knew the mission inside and out. A steady beat meant there were no problems.

A long ride, and he was restless. He unbuckled and moved forward, looking over the pilot's shoulder. Reading the flight orders out of boredom.

They're wrong! The coordinates are different. Looking through pages, talking to the pilot. Two hours ago they were supposed to be going somewhere else.

Pilot is scared - frantic. Checking the orders. The signature on the flight orders - read the signature!

We're taking fire. Sarris is hanging from his harness, his fatigues drenched in blood. Diving across the chopper, still not strapped in. Going down....

He jerked back, sweating and shaking. Blair was right beside him on the couch, almost in a panic. "What did you see, Jim?"

"I was in the chopper. I went forward and read the flight orders. They didn't match the mission plan."

"Okay, so that means what? What? They were tampered with?"

"Yeah, sure. I found the change, gave it to the pilot. Chief,the clipboard was five feet away in a chopper under fire and I read the signature. It got huge and I read the name."

"Your senses - you mean your senses came on line? Right in that moment?"

"Yeah. I read his name. Oliver. I knew all along, Chief. I knew before the bullets started flying we were flying to the wrong place and why. I wasn't strapped in when we went down. I must have been thrown clear. That's why I survived and no one else did."

"Sure, hit a soft spot on the jungle floor, or a bunch of vegetation, it could happen. Jim, your senses! Your Sentinel instincts were fighting to warn you in time."

They stared at each other, awed by the revelation. They sat for a long time, trying to take it in.

"It was the ultimate betrayal, Jim. You saw it and rejected it in the trauma of the crash. It was too much to deal with. That memory has been trying to fight its way back to the surface all these years."

"When I came back, I was sure Oliver did it, but I couldn't explain why. It was agony for the families, because I couldn't give the answers they needed."

Blair nodded. "And because you couldn't answer, you couldn't leave it behind. You can call their families now, tell them what happened. What really happened."

"You think? After all this time, would it help?" 

"I talked to some of those ladies this morning, Jim. They saved the day because they still care about you. You're survivors together. They treasure you like the memories of their husbands." He let that sink in. It's not a secret any more, Jim," Blair said softly. "You can tell them, and the truth will set you free."

The end  
  
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End file.
